A Thousand Prompts: Glee
by ficdirectory
Summary: features prompts from a huge premade list of 1,000. If you have a character or characters you would like to see featured, please send me a PM. Prompt #68 features Santana & family. (Rated M for prompt 22, 30 and 42, all others rated T)
1. Panorama

**Summary: **In 3x14, Kurt shows up at the God Squad meeting. Quinn asks what he is doing there and Joe says he invited him. Inspired by rainbowwrites and Tara621's request for a prompt featuring Joe Hart and Kurt Hummel.

**Prompt: Panorama: **_a continuously passing or changing scene or an unfolding of events._

Joe Hart was eating lunch alone on the day the announcement was made. The one about the student who had been hospitalized. He had said a prayer for him already, and continued all day, because he felt led to. There was a heavy feeling of grief that settled on Joe from the minute Principal Figgins addressed the student body.

So, he breathed, and prayed, and he found that he couldn't really eat. So, Joe glanced around the cafeteria. He saw a bunch of the New Directions sitting at the same table. They were broken into pairs or smaller groups. Finn and Rachel. Puck was near them, telling a story that made everyone laugh. Santana and Brittany. Mike and Tina. Rory, Artie and Sugar. Blaine was on the fringes of the group of kids Joe knew from God Squad - Mercedes, Quinn and Sam. It was as if nothing ever happened. As if they heard every day that someone from their school was in the hospital. That the principal sounded all choked up. As if they didn't even care than someone was missing. Joe counted them up in his head. Yeah. Only fourteen. Someone was missing…well…someone other than him.

Kurt.

Joe scanned the cafeteria instead of eating his sandwich. It was really busy and loud, but he found Kurt in an alcove by some windows. He was totally alone and looked really devastated. So, Joe tossed his sandwich and everything else, and went over to see if there was anything he could do to help.

"Hey," Joe said softly.

"Sorry. I'll move," Kurt said, his voice thick with emotion.

"No, dude. Don't move. I just wanted to see if you were okay." Joe sat down beside Kurt, letting the silence grow and not pushing. Sometimes, just being there for someone meant more than trying to fix everything.

Kurt sat hunched in nice clothes, not lifting his head. "Did you know Dave?" he asked softly.

"No." Joe didn't ask if Dave was David Karofsky. The sadness in Kurt's eyes told him as much as he needed to know.

"He used to bully me…relentlessly…and treat me like absolute crap. I used to go home and think about doing what he did."

Joe listened, curious, but silent. He had no idea what Dave had done, but it couldn't have been good.

"Things got better for me after a while. Dave transferred schools…and he'd reached out to me…you know…several times. At first I listened. I said we could be friends, but he could…push things. Over the last few days, he'd call But I kept ignoring them…" Kurt swallowed a sob. "God, if I'd just answered one of his calls. Then maybe he wouldn't have felt so hopeless. Maybe he would have felt heard Maybe he wouldn't have tried to..."

Joe raised his eyebrows, in question.

"Dave tried to kill himself yesterday. Figgins didn't want the whole student body in a panic. But Dave's dad called my dad last night and…I heard…"

Breathless, Joe stared. "I'm sorry," he managed.

"No one gets it," Kurt managed, wiping his eyes. "All the kids in glee see is that he made my life a living hell. They think he was this terrible person. And I'm not excusing what he did to me. But I know it was just because he was terrified. I hate that people have such a one-dimensional view of others. And I hate that I have absolutely nowhere I can go…and no one I can talk to about this. My dad's talking to Dave's dad. Blaine tries - and I appreciate that - but he can't really see Dave as anyone other than who he first knew him as. A bully. A _scared _bully, but a bully."

"You see more," Joe said simply.

"I guess I do. I'm not saying I want to be best friends with him. I'm just saying that it doesn't make sense to me to hate him. Why make his life harder when it's obviously already hard enough? I mean, what _is_ that in me? What makes me allow someone to treat me so badly and then turn around and want to make their life easier?"

"It sounds like grace," Joe replied honestly. "It doesn't make you a doormat. In fact, it makes you really awesome. Life's all about choices. Dave made some wrong choices, but does that mean he doesn't deserve love?" he asked rhetorically. "Hey, you should come to the God Squad meeting after school."

Kurt bristled. "You should know I don't believe in God. Something about the way your people view being gay as one of those wrong choices you're talking about… Anyway, I'm not interested."

Joe was silent for a minute. When Kurt met his eyes, Joe questioned him gently. "Weren't you the one who couldn't stand it when people put others in a box? I didn't think I knew any gay people last week and it turns out I know a ton. And you know what? It doesn't bother me. And it _shouldn't_. Like I said to Santana, love is love. That's all this is about, right? Loving people?" he waited a minute, and finally, gave it one last try. "We meet at 5:00. The door'll be open," Joe told him, standing up as kids started filtering out of the cafeteria.

Kurt pursed his lips. "I'll think about it," he confirmed, sounding a little better. Sounding like, maybe, he had a little hope.

_The End._


	2. World

**Summary: **Rachel gets a phone call that turns her world upside-down in the middle of a once-in-a-lifetime performance. Set in the More Than Words universe. Requested by Tara621.

**Prompt: **World

Rachel was nearly done with an amazing set.

Who would have thought that a freak accident just after graduation from McKinley could mean something so amazing was just around the corner? In a way, though, having her voice permanently damaged eighteen months ago had forced her to consider other options, and had given her so many opportunities she might have never had before - mainly in allowing her to explore her mostly untapped talent as a composer.

Rachel had gained valuable exposure, thanks to Kurt's generous offer that allowed her to perform for the first time as a pianist, composer and lyricist in front of Carmen Tibideux last May. A year had passed since that amazing night. Rachel had made the decision to move to New York over the summer, and she and Kurt had gotten an apartment together in Bushwick. Not really glamorous, but Rachel didn't need glamorous, she just needed possible. She had worked steadily, thanks to networking and the great audience at Kurt's final show as a freshman at NYADA.

That's how she ended up playing in an amazing space, not too far from home. Tonight, she had the opportunity of a lifetime, playing live for an thirty-minute dance performance. They wanted to feature her work. All instrumental. It was a blessing and a curse, because Rachel had to be as perfect as all the graceful dancers. So far so good. Only one more song to go.

She had just played the opening chords to _Making Peace with Broken Pieces_, when Rachel saw her cell phone for emergencies, which she placed covertly to her left, lighting up. She saw Kurt's name on the display screen, and very nearly lost her place. Rachel forced herself to focus. If Kurt was calling her on this phone, though, something had to be wrong. Still, she played through the remainder of the song, and then rushed off stage as soon as possible to call him back. Maybe it had been accidental, but Rachel didn't think so. Kurt was careful.

There was no message, so she pressed a button and waited for him to pick up.

"Kurt?" Rachel asked, her own voice soft and scratchy.

"This tonight Wednesday were stop use frantic worship fiddle… I can't even… Something… I really need…purple knots and heavy inside this apparatus…"

* * *

What the sweet hell was that? Not what Kurt meant to say, that was for sure. It was just that he had felt kind of funny and when he tried to turn on his computer, his hand wouldn't move. His vision was all blurry, and he just felt like something was off. So, he called Rachel on her emergency phone because that was the only thing that made sense. But her voice message sounded like a bunch of nonsense, so he'd hung up, frustrated. He knew her show was close to done. She would call him back. She had to.

Well, she had, but he hadn't understood a single word she said. And when he tried to ask her why she was talking crazy, Kurt realized that he was the one talking crazy. He couldn't understand anything, and he obviously wasn't making sense. He didn't know what to do. He just wanted whatever this was to stop.

* * *

Rachel blinked, knowing something was very wrong. She didn't want to alarm Kurt, but he clearly needed help. "I know something is wrong, okay? I hear you. You need to call 911, okay?"

When there was no immediate response aside from more frustrated gibberish, Rachel disconnected with him, and called for help, rushing outside to retrieve her bicycle. She had never felt more grateful to have had a performance at a venue local enough where she could ride there and not have to wait on public transportation. When her call was picked up, Rachel spoke carefully, but with an intensity she hoped carried across the miles to the dispatcher.

"Yes, I need an ambulance sent to an address in Bushwick," she said, specifying the location, praying her voice wouldn't be an obstacle now. Not when she needed it so much. She had to repeat herself twice, but eventually the information got through.

"What's the problem there?"

Rachel shuddered, thinking of another phone call to 911. May of 2012. Finn had been hysterical and not able to give any helpful information. But he had called. Help had come. Rachel took a deep breath, attempting to calm her own nerves.

"My roommate, he's having some kind of medical emergency. When he tries to talk, it doesn't make sense."

"Ma'am? You're going to have to speak up. I can't hear you."

Rachel scanned the street and ducked into a coffee shop that looked quieter than the street and the venue. Once she was inside, Rachel repeated herself carefully.

"Okay. How old is he?"

"He's twenty."

"Are you there with him now?"

"No, but I'm coming," Rachel insisted.

"Okay, I've got an ambulance on the way. Is there any way you could have him call 911?"

"I tried, but I don't think he understands me…" Rachel managed, willing herself not to cry. She didn't need to be anymore unintelligible than she was already.

* * *

Rachel arrived home just before the ambulance and found Kurt sitting in front of his computer, cell phone in his hand, staring at it. She could see fear in his eyes. But she barely had time to speak a word to him before the paramedics arrived to take Kurt to the hospital. Where they wanted to take Kurt wasn't the closest, but it was the best.

Thank God, Rachel was allowed to ride along in the ambulance. She sat and held Kurt's hand, hating that all he could do was squeeze hers, and look at her with terrified eyes.

For an hour, Rachel sat in the waiting room, while Kurt was having tests run on him. She'd thought about calling Kurt's dad, but didn't know what to say to him. She had no information, and simply sat, praying and watching the news, until someone in uniform addressed asked if anyone was here for Kurt Hummel.

"I am," she croaked, standing up. "Is he okay?"

"He's stable, and he's asking for you."

* * *

Kurt had never been more relieved. Whatever had happened, it was apparently over now, and he was feeling ready to get out of here, even though everyone working here seemed convinced that he should stay and have more incredibly invasive and humiliating tests run on him.

When he saw Rachel, finally, Kurt felt like he could relax.

"Hey," he said softly, extending his hand to her, grateful that it was responding to commands.

She ran to him and squeezed his hand tightly. "Kurt…so…you're all right?" she managed.

"Yes, thanks to you," he said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Word is, your quick thinking might have saved me from an untimely demise…" he joked wryly.

She winced, smacking him lightly. "Don't say that! So, what was it?" she rasped.

"Some kind of attack. Can we get out of here?" he complained.

Rachel's eyes widened. "Like your dad?" she asked.

"He's the heart and I'm the brain, apparently…" Kurt managed to convey sarcasm even with through his exhaustion.

Rachel squinted, shaking a finger at him. "Do you care if I talk to your doctor? For some reason, the idea of you having a random brain attack doesn't sit well with me…"

"Fine, it's not random. It's apparently a Transient Ischemic Attack. Like a mini-stroke. I feel fine now, and I just have to make sure to take care of myself and they want me back for like, two million more tests tomorrow. Hey, how was your show? I'm sorry if I interrupted…"

"You can always interrupt me," she reassured, squeezing his hand.

"Good. Now can we please go home?" he asked, feeling pathetic.

"Only if you've been officially released. And you should call your dad. I was going to, but I didn't have anything to tell him."

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "He's just gonna freak out for no reason. I don't have to tell him right now. It's late and it's not like he's gonna know."

"Are you kidding me?" Rachel insisted. "He's going to know the second your ambulance ride shows up on his insurance statement."

"Oh, crap. You're right," Kurt sighed. "Okay, I'll call him. But he's not coming out here to hover over me."

"Can _I _hover over you?" Rachel asked seriously.

"You save my life, I think you can do whatever you want," Kurt laughed. "Seriously, Rachel? Thank you."

"Of course," she smiled gently. "After all, _you _were there for _me_."

_The End._


	3. Salsa

**Summary: **"If at any point you wanna bail, get food, or go get _me _food…" - Ryder to Jake, 4x8, "Thanksgiving." Requested by: Tara621

**Prompt: **Salsa

What Mike Chang didn't tell Ryder was exactly how much energy dancing took. Up until then, Ryder had always danced for fun. His end zone dances mostly. Those were great, and they lifted everyone's moods…well…except Coach Beiste's…

Anyway, dance was exhausting. Especially this Gangnam Style, which Ryder had never heard of. If he had, maybe learning the lyrics would have come a little easier. At least he had Jake to help him with the moves.

A few hours into rehearsal and Ryder was so hungry. He didn't know how his cousin, or Marley, or _anyone_ could voluntarily starve themselves. His metabolism was super fast. Probably making up for his problems in other areas. Like anything at all in the academic area.

"Dude, I know you thought I was kidding…" Ryder gasped, leaning over to catch his breath. "But now would be a really good time for some food, if you know what I mean."

Jake raised an eyebrow. "What do you want _me _to do? I'm already helping you with your moves. You got legs. If you want food, get your own."

"Fine, I will," Ryder said, taking a long drink from his water bottle and heading offstage. It wasn't two minutes before Jake was behind him.

"You want me to get my own food, but you're gonna come anyway?" Ryder asked.

"What the hell am I gonna do by myself in an empty auditorium?" Jake snapped. "Only reason I'm there is to help _you_ learn this dance."

Ryder shrugged. "I don't know… You could always work on some of those twirls you were doing earlier," he smirked.

"Shut up. They're not _twirls_. It's a _tour en l'air._"

"That means _nothing _to me," Ryder said good-naturedly on his way out to the student parking lot. "Now, about this food…" he stopped short. "Oh, hold up. Just had a epic realization."

"Which is?" Jake asked, his arms crossed.

Ryder broke into a run. "I have the most amazing homemade salsa in my car!"

"That is seriously disturbing. You can't keep salsa in your car, dude, it'll grow mold and be all nasty," Jake wrinkled his nose.

"In the winter, you can. I know it's not _technically _winter yet, but the end of November is really close. Trust me, my car's like a refrigerator, and the heat doesn't even work," Ryder reassured, unlocking the door and retrieving the jar from his back seat. "See?" he asked, tossing it to Jake. "_Totally_ good."

"Then please tell me you have some chips in there…"

Ryder felt around in the back seat, until he found what he was looking for. Because no one was there to catch them, he brought the food back into the auditorium.

Jake scowled, seeing the chips in the light for the first time, instead of the dim parking lot. "Seriously? Don't tell me your chips are homemade, too…"

"They're not."

"They're _blue_," Jake pointed out, a little freaked out.

"Yeah, and they're also delicious," Ryder insisted, reaching in the bag and grabbing a handful. He spoke around a mouthful. "Thanks for helping me out with this."

"Anytime," Jake shrugged, fist-bumping Ryder. "You'd do the same for me, right? …You'd _better_ do the same for me," he said trying to sound tough, but a smile threatened.

"Yeah. Totally," Ryder returned easily. "Ugh…" he groaned, stretching out until he was lying on his back. "Now I all I want is some tacos…."

"What? You don't keep _those _in your car, too?"

"Funny," Ryder said, getting to his feet.

"I know a place that's got _kick-ass _salsa…and burritos the size of newborn babies…" Jake shared conspiratorially.

"Awesome. Lead the way."

"I _am_. And while we're driving, I'm gonna quiz you on K-pop dance moves…" Jake smirked.

"Can't we take a break?"

"What do you call _this_?!" Jake insisted.

"Dinner is not a break," Ryder pointed out.

"Okay, but don't come crying to me when you fall on your ass onstage in front of everybody Thursday…"

Ryder sighed. "Fine. Quiz me."


	4. Taste

**Summary: **Sometime after Panorama, Joe meets Dave. Allusions to 3x14's reference that Mercedes made about bringing Dave an edible arrangement, and visiting him. Requested by Tara621.

**Prompt: **Taste

You don't know it, but grief has a taste. It tastes like tears, a little bitterness…and a lot of hopelessness.

Joe can't breathe as he makes his way down the hospital hall behind Sam, Mercedes and Quinn. He doesn't know Dave Karofsky. He only knows what Kurt told him. Dave is both a bully and the bullied. But, apparently, unlike Kurt, who Joe assumes may have been mistreated for many years, and stood strong, Dave couldn't handle the same enduring the same abuse he gave.

This was a tough one…but then again, it wasn't so tough at all. Because, in reality, everyone had a little bit of Dave Karofsky in them. And everyone had a little Kurt in them, too. That mix of strength and cowardice.

"Hey," Mercedes said softly, knocking on the door Dave's father had indicated. Joe had heard Dave's mom crying, talking about sending him away to someplace where his disease could be cured. Joe sighed, feeling the weight of so much brokenness on his shoulders.

"Hey…" a voice said back. It was small, timid, and hoarse. Nothing like Joe expected. He saw the bruises but forced himself to look higher. To meet Dave's eyes. He knew everyone else, it was evident by the quiet small talk they were exchanging, as Sam sneaked grapes and strawberries from the edible arrangement when he thought no one was looking.

Joe extended a hand. "Hey, man. I'm Joseph Hart. I just started at McKinley last week."

"David," he nodded. And then he turned to Quinn. "Did you come to tell me I'm some kind of freak, too?"

"We came to tell you that we love you," Mercedes said evenly. It hadn't taken Joe long to get the sense that Mercedes had seen her share of tragedy and was used to being strong in the face of it.

"Yeah, we just wanted to let you know we're thinking of you…and…I don't know…to let you know we'll be here for you whenever you need us," Sam said softly.

"You're no more a freak than any of the rest of us," Quinn told Dave, with a genuineness Joe hadn't ever seen from her. They didn't stay long. No one was comfortable, as much as they tried to pretend otherwise. Really, they were all just kids and this hit too close to home for all of them.

Sam was gone first. Then Quinn. Finally, Mercedes. But Joe hung back.

"I talked to Kurt today," Joe said quietly.

"Does he hate me?" Dave asked, his tone empty.

"No…the opposite…" Joe managed, his voice heavy. "He gets it, I think."

There was silence for a minute and then Joe got to his feet. They felt trapped inside the shoes he wore, but he had no choice. He had to wear shoes in here, or he wouldn't be allowed inside. And he had to be here today. He couldn't explain it. But Joe couldn't be a Christian in name only. That's one of the things he loved about the God Squad. They might have been small, but they got out and did things to help others. Prayer was great, but backed up by actions, it was even more righteous.

"Thanks for coming…and thanks for not thinking I'm a total ass…" Dave managed.

"No problem," Joe said, reaching out to shake Dave's hand.


	5. Belief

**Summary: **At first glance, Artie Abrams and Kurt Hummel don't have much in common, but look again, and you'll see that, maybe, they do. Allusions to 2x3, "Grilled Cheesus." Requested by Maureen Anson.

**Prompt: **Belief

**2003:**

The first time Artie and Kurt saw each other - really saw each other - after Artie's accident was in church. Artie's mom and dad stood up and thanked everybody for their prayers. After announcements, Artie rode the elevator downstairs for Sunday school. Kurt was there, too.

Artie stared, unembarrassed, at Kurt. Elevators were supposed to be for people in wheelchairs, but he remembered playing in it himself back before the car accident. Still, he couldn't bite back the question when it came.

"Why are you in here?" he asked. Kurt was a year older, but small for his age, and very quiet ever since his mom died last year.

"Because," Kurt muttered. "Some kids said if I went down the stairs again, they'd push me."

"Oh," Artie answered, studying the floor.

The elevator stopped moving, but Kurt hit the special button that made the door close. He slid down the wall and drew his knees to his chest. "I don't want to go to Sunday school…" Kurt sighed. He seemed so sad.

Artie swallowed a lump in his throat. He didn't want to go either. His whole life was different now, but mostly he hated everything because all the adults kept pretending nothing changed, while all the kids knew better. They either asked to play with his wheelchair, like it was a toy, or stared at him. Now, he couldn't run outside at recess, or in gym class, or even get up a curb without someone helping him.

"I feel like an alien," Artie admitted.

"Me, too," Kurt nodded. "Because aliens aren't allowed in church, right?"

"Yeah, I think," Artie confirmed. "And because aliens are angry all the time that no one understands them. Like…I don't know why my mom and dad were thanking everybody for praying for me. Their prayers didn't really work."

"Maybe they did," Kurt shrugged.

"How?" Artie snapped. "I'm gonna be in this stupid chair forever now."

"At least you lived. My mom didn't, and I prayed as hard as I could for her," Kurt pointed out, his voice soft, and kind of heavy.

"Aliens don't pray, I don't think. Or if they do, it can't be understood in this galaxy," Artie decided.

"Being an alien totally sucks," Kurt said, sounding close to crying. "We're stuck as one whether we want to be or not."

"We better go. My parents are gonna think something terrible happened to me if I don't show up in Sunday school."

"Something terrible _already_ happened to you," Kurt pointed out honestly, the shadow of a smile on his face..

Against his will, Artie smiled, too, but just because it was Kurt. Because he knew what it was like not to fit in.

Because they were aliens.

**2010**

"Fantastic," Kurt spat, seeing Artie in McKinley's elevators too late, as the doors closed them in. "Just when I thought I avoided all the well-meaning believers who want to pray my dad back to health…"

Artie didn't speak.

"…and Neanderthals live in the stairwell who are set on making my life a living hell no matter what personal tragedy I'm experiencing…." Kurt ranted, wiping his eyes.

"You do realize you just equated people praying for your dad with people who terrorize you every day, don't you?" Artie asked gently.

"So, what?" Kurt snapped, blue eyes shining.

"So, maybe the people praying for you are intense, but at least they mean well. They want to help. Whether you get your dad a Sikh or a Rabbi shouldn't matter. All that should is that it's positive energy being directed at someone you care about. Why _wouldn't _you want that?" Artie pressed, blocking the open doors with his chair. For a good measure, he pressed the 'door close' button.

"I hate religion," Kurt insisted, his eyes alive with raw pain and grief.

"That's a pretty broad statement."

"It makes _broad_ generalizations," Kurt snapped. "It's just an excuse to hate."

"Or one to love," Artie said quietly as the door opened. Finally, Artie took the brakes off his chair and went out into the busy hallway. He glanced over his shoulder briefly. "You know, maybe we had it wrong when we were kids, Kurt."

Saying nothing, Kurt raised his chin a little. A challenge, or permission.

"Maybe we're all aliens, and that way, maybe, we're not alone," Artie said, continuing down the hall.


	6. Shoes

**Summary: **Artie's older brother, Andy has hesitations about going away to college. Requested by: Maureen Anson

**Prompt: **Shoes

As kids, Artie and his older brother, Andy, had been inseparable. The three-and-a-half year age gap had meant little - even less when the accident happened, and Andy ended up with a lot more responsibility on his shoulders than any eleven-year-old should. Artie remembered overhearing the conversation their dad was having with Andy:

"If anything comes up for him, I want you to come and wake me up, understand?"

"What do you mean if something comes up?" Andy had asked. "What could come up?"

"If he has any problems, you know…if he needs anything…"

Artie had been pretty sure that their dad hadn't meant for Andy to permanently relocate to the floor of Artie's room, just in case. He was pretty sure their dad didn't mean that Andy was supposed to be responsible for helping him with a thousand little things he could no longer do easily, but that's what happened.

People sometimes forgot that they had _both_ been in the car. Himself and Andy. His mom had been driving, and was knocked unconscious briefly. Andy broke his nose and thought for a few terrifying seconds that he would be the sole survivor of the crash. It was years before Artie knew any of that, of course. At eight, he couldn't have handled it.

In the blink of an eye, it seemed, seven years had passed, and Andy was getting ready to head off to college. Even that was difficult. Where he should go had been a constant debate in the family. Since childhood, Andy had his sights set Juiliard for dance, and then the accident happened, and his dreams suddenly shrunk.

"I don't have to go," he whispered that last night. "I can stay close. Go to Allen County Community College. Live at home, save money, you know?"

"Why are you sleeping on my floor again?" Artie asked irritably. "And, no, if you do that, Mom and Dad will kill you. And if they don't, I will. Don't throw your future away for me, Andy."

"I'm not saying that. I'm saying, you're more important to me than school."

"That's great. So you can live your whole life resenting me for holding you back…" Artie whispered.

"No. Are you serious right now? Can't you see that I'm saying this because you matter? I couldn't help you then, Artie, but I can help you now."

"You want to help me?" Artie asked. "Live your life. I'm watching you. God, you've always been my ultimate role model. Ever since you were four and showed me that MJ video on TV. I wanted to be a dancer because you did! I always wanted to be just like you. Wanted to follow in your footsteps. But what will I achieve if you hold yourself back for me?"

Andy had left the next morning, and things had changed, but now, as Artie looked forward to his future, he glanced down at his own feet. At the shoes he'd found by the door after Andy left. He'd always had giant feet, and since Artie didn't need shoes that offered a perfect fit, he pulled them on the first day of his sophomore year, after his brother left.

Now, two years later, they fit.

Maybe he'd never dance a step. Maybe Artie would never be as accomplished as Andrew Abrams, Juiliard student, but at least, Artie could wear his brother's shoes, and dream about what was possible.


	7. Order

**Summary: **Tina Cohen-Chang is not Chinese and she's not Jewish American, but for most of her life, that hardly seems to matter. Requested by: Maureen Anson

**Prompt: **Order

In order to fully understand Tina, you have to first understand that what you see is not what you get. People who see her with her father automatically think she is adopted, but with her mother, she is treated as biological, when even that is not the case. The truth is, she is Korean. Born with a name that meant "brave." Then, she came here at a few months old, and it was changed, to one that meant "follower," at least, in part.

She looks nothing like her Jewish-American father, James Cohen. And contrary to popular belief, nothing like her Chinese mother, Mei Chang. It was a beautiful thing that they wanted her. That they gave her a home and a life, but it was confusing to never really know where she fit. Her parents tried to teach her about Korea when she was younger but she wasn't interested. None of the other kids were going to cultural festivals, they were having sleepovers, doing each other's hair and nails and just having fun.

This isn't public knowledge or anything, but the whole reason she faked a stutter in sixth grade was not just to get out of any presentation, it was to get out of talking about Korea, which, her group had somehow gotten stuck with. Tina knew absolutely nothing about it, and didn't want to. It was a part of her, but a part so distant that she didn't think about it much. She didn't even tell people she was Korean. She didn't tell them anything. For most of school, until ninth grade when she joined glee, Tina rarely spoke at all.

It's always been difficult finding a place to land. For a while she thought glee was it, but even that didn't fill the void inside her. Dating Mike helped, but he was so proud of being Chinese, and she felt like the biggest faker around him that she couldn't keep her anger inside. Everything had to be Asian. And Tina didn't _feel _Asian. She didn't feel anything.

Dressing up helped. So Tina tried different styles of clothes, experimenting with them like she might a second skin until Figgins freaked out about vampires and banned her from wearing anything he thought was inappropriate. It was terrible.

Things change when Finn is leading the glee club during Tina's senior year. The theme was world music or something, and for some reason unknown to her, Finn decided out of all the songs on the planet, to pick one with Korean roots. And worse, to give Tina the solo. She didn't even feel like she could balk at it, since she barely ever sang anyway, and made an impressive scene last year before Nationals about how Rachel got everything, because, let's face it, she did.

So, Tina had gone home, and locked herself in her room. Her room that looked like any other girl in America's room - with posters of Twilight, a stack of DVDs - heavy on Grey's Anatomy - the flowered comforter and the pastel walls - and Tina learned her mother tongue, for the first time in her life.

It actually made her miss it. It was weird. It made her miss this place she couldn't even remember being. The song was terrible and the performance was a disaster, but the learning the music…it touched something deep inside her.

It sent her to the attic after she had a depressing Thanksgiving dinner with her parents, after losing Sectionals. She looked through boxes until she found the corner dedicated to all her Korean stuff. It wasn't much, but her parents had definitely tried. There were documents and pictures. Keepsakes that Tina couldn't understand if she tried. After a long time, she crept downstairs and sat on the couch between her parents, a delicate woven bracelet from the boxes upstairs fastened around her wrist.

"Why Korea?" she asks softly, sitting between them. It's something she's always wondered, but never dared to ask.

Her mom holds her hand and strokes her hair, and her dad doesn't hesitate before answering:

"Because _you_ were there."


	8. Rebellion

**Summary: **In 3x01, "The Purple Piano Project," Quinn has descended into dangerous territory. Tina sees past the surface, to the pain underneath, because she's been there, too. Allusions to my story, "Up in Flames." Requested by: Maureen Anson

**Prompt: **Rebellion

Quinn lurked under the bleachers, clearly overhearing the conversation Santana was having with Blaine. She smirked as Blaine asked Santana if anyone had ever described her as intensely hostile. The joke was over, though, when Quinn realized that Santana had been hurt in their little prank in the courtyard. She almost gave herself up out of guilt, but decided against it.

She waited until she heard retreating footsteps and took out a cigarette and lit up.

"Hey," a voice said, scaring the crap out of her.

"Lurk much?" Quinn snapped, hiding her surprise, at the sight of Tina who had somehow materialized without making a sound. "I'm not coming back to glee club," she said automatically.

"Yes, actually, which is why I'm so good at it," Tina said, no trace of humor in her voice. "I like the pink," she said, gesturing to Quinn's hair.

"I don't want to hear it," Quinn dismissed.

"I thought of doing it, too," Tina admitted. 'But you actually have the complexion for it, so…"

"The Skanks are going to be back any minute," Quinn warned, even though they hung out at school as little as possible.

"Are you okay?" Tina asked abruptly.

Quinn just stared at her. As many members of the glee club as had come to try to beg her back in, not one of them bothered to ask that. They saw the pink hair, the erotic tattoo of Ryan Seacrest, and the smoking habit and thought rebellion. They turned their heads at the idea of a seventeen-year-old dating a 40-year-old skateboarder, so that, maybe, if they didn't look directly at it, it wouldn't actually be happening. So it would be nothing more than the latest act in a string of messed-up choices. They ignored her. Or they laughed at the wreck she was becoming. "What do you think?"

"Yes or no?" Tina insisted, harsher than Quinn had ever heard her.

"No."

"Can I do anything?"

_Can you bring Beth back? _Quinn thought hopelessly. "Like what?"

"Like…I don't know…listen… Suggest anti-depressants…." Tina tried.

"I'm not depressed," Quinn denied, her tone flat.

"You are."

"And _you _would know…" Quinn spat, disbelieving.

"Actually, I _would _know," Tina insisted, stepping closer. For the first time, Quinn didn't feel reckless under here, she felt caged. "I know what it's like to feel like you're in a hole so deep that no one can possibly reach you. Like everything good is being sucked down a drain every time you open your eyes. I know how it feels to hate yourself. To push everyone away because you think it's what you deserve anyway…"

For once, Quinn didn't speak, just cocked her head slightly. Like she _might _care, if Tina were interesting enough.

"You're doing it with tattoos and hair dye and a disgusting habit. I did it with my style, blue contacts, silence, and a fake speech impediment… I made myself into someone I wasn't, because I had no real idea who I was. I still don't. People eventually stop trying if you do…except those of us who recognize what's buried under the act itself. People who know that all this," she gestured at Quinn, "isn't just about being emo, or making a point. It's about pain."

"So what? I'm not depressed. I'm fine." _I feel empty. I miss my daughter_.

"I know," Tina said, her voice full of sympathy that cut like jagged edges. Like she could read Quinn's thoughts.

Raising her chin, Quinn took a step back. "Go away," she offered tonelessly.

But instead of turning away, Tina sat down in the dirt. "I think I'll stay a while."


	9. Paper

**Summary: **Santana goes shopping in Westerville in spite of the crazies out after their bling, and makes a split-second decision that touches the cashier who rings her up - and witnesses the whole event - Blaine Anderson. Set in Season 4. Inspired by the acts of kindness (initiated by Ann Curry) that are sweeping the country in honor of those lost in Connecticut. Characters requested by: D

**Prompt: **Paper

It's a couple days before Christmas and Santana is in a horrible mood. People are rude - well, mostly her - and they don't consider anything outside themselves, especially when shopping. She's all the way out in Westerville because the good stuff is there, obviously Since arriving in Louisville, Santana has vowed to turn over a new leaf, which means no more shoplifting. So, she's at the counter, paying like a normal person, when there's this huge commotion a few registers over. She stands on her toes to see what the hell is going on - because damn her for being so short - and she can't see much. She pays without glancing at the cashier, still totally distracted.

She's still in line when she sees it. All these people after the latest big-ticket item. Makes sense, she guesses, there are only a few more days until Christmas, and everyone wants to be satisfied. But then she hears the commotion and turns her head again. The kid crying, "Mama!" with her arms raised. She's small - looks too small to be walking, but she is - and she is trying like crazy to keep up, as her mom rushes by her. Everyone else is too damn busy to look twice.

"You want to act like that? Fine. I'm going to the car."

Santana is stunned when she sees a woman, weighed down by about a billion shopping bags, literally leave her toddler behind. The kid - she's a baby, really - hesitates just inside the sliding glass doors, crying in a way that breaks Santana's heart and makes her blood boil. She has her bags by now but she drops them and runs. Even then she can hardly move fast enough. By the time she gets to the baby, she is walking unsteadily towards the open doors that lead to the parking lot.

"Hey," Santana interjects, scooping the baby up. Not on her watch was she gonna stand back and see some horrific accident because of parental ineptitude. "It's okay. I've got you," she soothes, stroking the girl's brown curls. Then, she picks up her, and heads after the mother, not knowing what the hell she was doing, returning this kid to someone who would just leave them behind.

"Excuse me," Santana calls, walking swiftly to the car, a child on her hip. "Maybe next time your baby's crying for you, you could her up instead of leaving her behind and crossing a busy parking lot," Santana snapped.

"Oh," the mother says. She looks frazzled and young, and yes, finally, she's put down the bags.

That's it. Just 'oh.' Then, she takes her kid from Santana, gets in the car, and drives away.

She's on her way to her own car - bags forgotten - when she starts to shake. This was too damn close.

* * *

Blaine doesn't think. He doesn't care if it gets him fired. He goes after Santana Lopez.

She hadn't even glanced at him on her way through his hectic line. The store was absolutely crazy and people were more inconsiderate than usual. Still, when Santana turned her head in response to something, he followed her gaze. He saw the little girl being left behind by her mom. Saw Santana rush to act, when no one else seemed to even notice, and Blaine was stuck behind a counter helping ungrateful people who yelled at him for moving too slowly or not knowing the correct codes to scan their items.

He picks up her bags where she dropped them and finds her sitting in her car in the parking lot. She looks shaken. He taps on her window.

"Shit, Anderson. You scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here?"

"You checked out in my lane. You left these," he explains simply, handing them to her through her open car window.

* * *

"What the hell is this?" she demands, spotting the gift card and piece of paper on top of the things she bought. She snatches it out, glaring at the words: _In honor of… Pay it forward if you can._

"It's a random act of kindness. Just take it, okay?" Blaine insists through the window.

"Why are you random-acting me, Anderson?" she snaps, her heart still racing. Her hands, she thinks, might never stop shaking.

He doesn't walk away, stung by her words, and he doesn't laugh. Instead, he answers her. "Why do I need a reason? _You_ clearly didn't."


	10. Autumn

**Summary: **Deleted scene from the beginning of 4x09, "Swan Song." Finn waits with Marley, for her mother, after she collapses on stage. WARNING: References eating disordered thinking. Characters requested by: The Allyphant.

**Prompt: **Autumn

Marley Rose had grown up not caring what others thought. She had gone to school in hand-me-downs, got the discounted lunches and couldn't afford birthday presents for other kids, so she wasn't invited to their parties. But she had been strong. She had been okay. When kids had picked on her mom, Marley had told herself she would rather have her mom heavier, but happy, instead of thin and so depressed that Marley had grown up in a constant state of fear. She never knew what it was that made her mom so sad, or made comfort something she craved so much her mom ate to achieve it, but Marley adapted, because she had to.

She didn't know when she started caring. Marley didn't know when the shift happened. When her life and herself had suddenly stopped being enough. But when wasn't really the question that needed answering. The question that needed answering, she thought woozily as she sat alone in the choir room was why.

The questions were numerous, it was the answers that were hard to come by.

Why had she allowed herself to be manipulated and why hadn't she asked for help? Why didn't she realize what was happening until it was too late? Why hadn't she stopped herself before it came to this?

The questions swirled in Marley's head as she held the juice box in her hand that she didn't really want.

"Drink that," came a voice, sterner than she was used to hearing. Oh, right. She wasn't alone after all. Finn was here. He'd refused to leave her alone while Mr. Schue had led the rest of them out so she could wait for her mom.

"I'm fine," Marley insisted, though she wasn't. Though she was devastated and sick and weak. And no one seemed to understand that drinking the juice wasn't a choice right now, it was a physical impossibility. Even if Marley wanted to, she couldn't have done it.

"Talk to me, huh?" Finn said, getting down on her level. "What is this? What did I miss with you?"

_Everything_, she wanted to say, but no words would come. It wasn't his fault, really. Secrecy was part of it. Having control over something in her life was so important that she had become willing to starve herself. It was embarrassing. Humiliating. She couldn't stop it.

Her mom arrived then, insisting that they go to the hospital, even though Marley knew they didn't have money for an ER visit.

"Marley, listen to me," Finn said quietly, supporting one side of her as her mom supported the other. "I'm not good with words or whatever, and I don't want to say the wrong thing, but I'm here for you. The glee club's here for you. All right?"

"But Sectionals…" she protested even as the ground lurched beneath her. The wind whipped through the trees, rustling their dying leaves. They were so fragile. And they felt like she felt. Cracked. Brittle. Dehydrated. Marley felt autumn in her veins.

"Do you honestly think I'd put Sectionals above your health?" he asked. "Sectionals doesn't mean anything. You do. All right?" he asked gently, making sure she was safely in the car.

"I'm so sorry, Finn…" she managed, swallowing her own guilt and feeling it weigh her down like stones. His words didn't register at all. She was so clearly the reason for losing. She could see nothing but that and Finn could see nothing but her.

"Just get better," he encouraged.

She wanted to. God, Marley wanted that more than anything. She sighed as the door was closed between them.

Finally, something they agreed on.


	11. Harmony

**Summary: **A few years after Rachel is settled in New York, she and Blaine team up. He needs someone who can write music and she needs to be around a friend who can still sing. Set in the More Than Words Universe. Characters and general idea requested by GleekMom.

**Prompt: **Harmony

Composing is catharsis. If Rachel did not have this, she knows, she would have ended up somewhere else entirely after her car accident. After Finn left. After, period. Because her life is firmly divided into parts now. Before the accident, and after it. Sometimes she can't believe it happened. Sometimes, she can't forget it.

It's been three years now, since her life took that dramatic turn. It's the second time she's come to the aid of a friend. She's been living in New York, with Kurt, and very slowly, their friends have followed suit. Brittany had come first, on Rachel's advice that there was a job opportunity that she was absolutely suited for. And she had been. Working as a company dancer for a production on which Rachel had worked as composer. Santana soon followed, when her telenovela was cancelled, and Quinn bounced from Yale to Lima and finally to New York, to live with Santana and Brittany. Brittany had amassed an impressive resume and was teaching dance at a local studio, while Santana was auditioning and working odd jobs. Quinn had found a place as an administrative assistant in Isabelle Wright's office.

Blaine had come most recently. News of Kurt's own health crisis, coupled with three failed auditions to get into NYADA over the past two years, had Blaine practically living at the Bushwick apartment as a kind of unofficial third roommate. It was more than a little strained, with Kurt constantly insisting that he "didn't need a babysitter" and Blaine fussing over him.

As Rachel watches them over breakfast, it's clear that Blaine is depressed. Clear that Kurt has had enough. Ever since Blaine has come here, Rachel has meant to talk with him, but her schedule hasn't permitted. So, Rachel makes time.

"What's up?" she asks, sitting beside him at the table. Her rasp sometimes catches her by surprise - the constant whisper she speaks in, left unable to project even the slightest bit - but Blaine doesn't seem to mind. Blaine has never seemed to mind, even when everyone else minded deeply.

He sits, picking at his food. She knows he thinks he is doing a good job hiding the fact that he hasn't eaten a bite, but Rachel has noticed. "It's my last chance," he sighs, like his dreams are slipping away.

She pulls the chair closer to him, so he will be sure to hear her. "Last chance for what?"

"I told myself if I didn't make it into NYADA for spring semester, that would be it. I'd move onto something else. My parents are already livid with me for not being more responsible with my future."

Rachel winces. It had been hard enough failing once. She can't imagine facing rejection so constantly. Once had been devastating. Three times would have done her in for sure.

"What did _you _do?" he asks softly. He has a tendency to do this so there is not such a dramatic shift in volume when their conversation shifts.

She smiles ruefully. "I spent two weeks completely destroyed. Then, Tina told me not to take no for an answer. Not to give up. I got Madame Tibideux to give me another chance. I got in…and then the accident happened…and it was all gone…just like that…"

Blaine covered her hand with his own. "I'm sorry," he says, so honestly. And she knows he is. She knows he tries his best not to sing around her because he's afraid it will make her sad.

"Did she give you any feedback?" Rachel asks.

"Something about my song choice and how nothing I do rings true for her…" he says regretfully.

"What if you wrote your own song?" she wonders.

"I can't write," Blaine protests.

"What if I helped you?" he hesitates - she can see it - so she pushes harder. "You need a composer and someone who's been through the process before, and made it. _I _need to be around a friend who can still sing. Blaine, it used to hurt when I heard you guys doing what I couldn't but now? It kills me to not hear music in the house other than the music I make."

"Are you sure?" he asks. "I know you've got a lot on your plate."

"Never too much to help a friend," she promises.

* * *

That night, while Kurt works late in Isabelle's office, and Blaine has made Quinn swear up and down that she will keep an eye on him, Rachel takes advantage of the quiet. She pulls a folding chair up to the keyboard and urges Blaine to do the same with the second.

When they're both seated, he looks at her expectantly. He doesn't speak.

Neither does she.

Instead, she plays a very deliberate four-chord progression, making adjustments as needed. She inclines her head, ironically showing the scar on her neck as she whispers in Blaine's ear. It's not romantic, just necessary. Her voice won't carry over the sound of the piano and he won't hear her unless it is just like this.

"What moves you?"

"Sunrise," he whispers, echoing her soft tone.

"What hurts?"

Nothing, so she tries again. "Why sunrise?"

"Because of what it represents. The opportunity to start fresh, even if yesterday was a total failure."

"What are you most afraid of?" she asks.

His answer surprises her. "Rejection," he says.

And finally, her last question. "What hurts?" she tries.

This time, he bows his head. "Everything," he says, and she believes him.

For a while, they sit side by side. She plays, and lets his words settle inside her. She watches him. The way he sits, with his fingers arced against his legs. She closes her eyes and remembers her first performance accompanying Kurt. How, backstage, Rachel had practiced her piece against her own knees, in the absence of a piano.

"Do you play?"

"Everyone else's music," he confesses. "Not my own."

It's this, and nothing else that catches Rachel's attention. She grabs for a paper and pen, and begins scribbling lyrics in a frenzy. Before this - just _before_ - Rachel would cry while writing mundane songs that didn't matter, thinking they were much more than they were. Her process now is so quick it feels more like transcribing than actual writing. She is just giving everything inside of her a voice. Except this time, it isn't just for her. It's for Blaine, too.

In time, it's complete. Music, lyrics and all. Cautiously, she sets it on the music stand and begins to play. Softly, from beside her, Blaine begins to sing.

"_I am a chameleon, changing color in my skin. I'm a mockingbird that sings. Don't mock me or clip my wings. For these remain my best defense. Believe that I am more than this." _It's darker than anything Rachel's written before, even moreso than _White Picket Fences_, and even that had been her story. What would Blaine make of her take on his own?

"_Everything inside me aches. I cannot make the same mistakes. Please don't turn away from me_. _Hear me now; look and see. Believe what lies beneath._" She hears his voice catch - watches him swallow - and go for the chorus bravely.

"_I might not be a bird at all. I might not be a creature. I might be a student or someone's teacher. Sunrise is coming, and when light touches me. I'll know what I was born to be. _He sounds so hollow, so tragically perfect for this. It isn't her best work lyrically, but that hardly seems to matter. In some selfish place inside her, Rachel finds herself thinking that even a less-than-perfect effort from her will land him a place in NYADA. If he can keep this level of emotional honesty.

"_I am a son. And I am a brother. I am a not-so-significant other. I am a singer, tattered and stained. I am free, and also in chains." _Rachel pours herself into playing, pretending she can't hear Blaine's voice shake here and there as he tries to navigate her lyrics.

"_See, I might not be a bird at all. I might not be a creature. I might be a student or someone's teacher. Sunrise is coming, and when light touches me. I'll know what I was born to be._

"_Until then, if I stay in the dark, well, even there I'll make my mark. I'll make it work wherever I am, because I can…_" It gets lighter here, and a little easier to breathe. Rachel feels the tension relax in her neck and shoulders. She plays with more ease, and finds herself wishing for the private little alcove and the out-of-tune piano she discovered in college, but for now, this will have to do. She plays on, reveling in the smooth, rich sound of Blaine's voice.

"_Because I might not be a bird at all. I might not be a creature. I might be a student or someone's teacher. Sunrise is coming, and when light touches me. I'll know what I was born to be._

"_Believe what lies beneath."_

* * *

When he's finished, she asks him for his opinion, depressing the audio record button on Blaine's phone before she speaks. "Honestly," she presses.

"It's perfect. I have to go," he says in a rush, her sheet music in his hand. "Oh. Can I take this?" he asks, shaking the papers at her.

"Sure. Of course," she stammers, and then he is out the door.

* * *

For a while, she doesn't see him, and she wonders if everything is okay. Kurt even goes to a doctor's appointment without Blaine at his side. Santana says she's seen him once on the train. A week passes. Then, two.

Rachel texts him and he texts back. They are cryptic. ("_I'm fine.")_

Then, a week later, he knocks on the door as if no time has passed. Rachel opens the door and Blaine glances around her conspicuously.

"Is Kurt home?"

"No."

Blaine hesitates at that and then walks in and sits at the table. "I auditioned," he admits.

Rachel is stunned. "Blaine, I would've accompanied you. I was planning to. You just- You never said…"

"I got in," he says, cutting her off. His voice shaking. There is hope in his eyes. Finally, some hope.

"What?" Rachel gasps, and a genuine smile breaks over her features.

"And don't worry. I gave you credit for the song and the lyrics. Madame Tibideux seemed impressed. You've made quite a name for yourself out here."

"So will you," she says, squeezing his hand.

And when Blaine walks out, humming the opening notes to _Sunrise _under his breath, Rachel finds herself at peace.

_The End._


	12. Flat

**Summary: **Deleted scene from the hiatus after 3x14, "On My Way". Mike and Blaine wait for news about Quinn's condition with the rest of the glee club. Characters requested by Tara621

**Prompt: **Flat

Mike feels his cell phone vibrate and ignores whoever is calling - whoever it is - it can't be more important than what he is doing right now. It feels unbelievable, beyond any words at all. First Dave Karofsky, and now Quinn. It doesn't make sense. Logically, Mike knows that Quinn didn't try to crash her car. Mike has known Quinn at least peripherally since they were freshmen. When he first made the football team, and she first made Cheerios. He knows this was just an accident. Word is, she was distracted. On her way back to the courthouse for Finn and Rachel's wedding. But that knowledge doesn't make the reality any easier to take.

He lifts his head and dares to glance around him. Rachel is a mess, and Tina holds her hand, strangely dry-eyed. But Rachel hasn't stopped crying since they found out what happened. Santana and Brittany sit in a corner holding hands. They seem to be in shock. Finn and Sam seem to be in similar states of duress. Mercedes and the new guy, Joe, are praying in separate chairs. Mercedes prays aloud, and Joe has his hands, palm-up, in front of him. Kurt is nowhere to be found, but Mike is sure he's somewhere around here. Because his dad is here for Dave's dad. The room is crowded with people, and Mike finds he can't sit still. The elevator doors open and Blaine steps off. His eyes are deep and haunted. Mike takes the excuse and walks over to him.

"I don't know where to be…" he admits quietly, almost reverently. As if the energy in here is sacred - charged with energy - for Quinn. "Kurt's upstairs still, with Mr. Karofsky and his father. I wanna be there for him, but I feel like I need to be here, too."

Mike just stands, anchoring himself firmly, feeling the floor through his shoes, to be certain he won't move if another crisis comes to shake them. "There's no word," he says. Words. Finally.

Blaine lets out a breath, relieved or anxious, Mike can't tell. He book-smart and athletic, but he's not so good with emotions.

He walks toward the pot of bad coffee and pours some, even though the last thing he needs is caffeine, and offers it to Blaine first. It's only polite, after all. Blaine's hands are shaking, but he takes the cup anyway, and sips.

Mike pours another for himself, and stands against the wall, taking in the crowd of people. He notes who is here and who isn't. He hasn't seen Quinn's family yet, any of them.

"Where are her parents?" Mike asks softly. "They should be here."

"Kurt mentioned that when they lost his mother, his dad was taken to a kind of conference room for privacy. With Kleenex," Blaine blurts.

He and Blaine seem to have opposite problems. He says too little, while Blaine says way, _way_ too much. Then it hits him. "Is that why Kurt's not here?" and then "Is it that bad?"

"I don't know…" Blaine hedges. "I'm just telling you what Kurt told me…"

Mike presses his lips together. He feels pain down to his bones. Like he has been jerked and jarred and broken. Like this happened to him, too. Not in a selfish way, but in a compassionate way. Quinn is a part of them. When something hurts her, it hurts them all. He chokes up a little thinking about the circle with Mr. Schue earlier that day. Quinn was looking forward to graduating from Yale. Not just graduating, but graduating at the top of her class. She had dreams. _Has_, he corrects, because he can't think like that. Quinn _has _dreams. She's going to pull through this. She has to.

"Do you pray?" Blaine asks, very softly.

"I hope," Mike tells him honestly.

"I hope, too," Blaine agrees.

Slowly, Mike reaches out and takes Blaine's hand. Together, they walk toward Tina. She takes Mike's hand. Rachel, Finn, Sam, Mercedes, Joe, and finally, Brittany and Santana follow suit. They grip each other tightly, each an anchor for the other - and Quinn - so that none of their own can float away.

_The End._


	13. Lightning

**Summary: **AU. A forbidden interracial relationship in the '60s. Idea and characters requested by Tara621.

**Prompt: **Lightning

Sam Evans wasn't dumb. He knew it was dangerous to date a girl like Mercedes Jones. Not because _she_ was dangerous, but because of others. Even though the Civil Rights Movement had been active for sometime, and schools were officially desegregated, that didn't seem to matter to some. Sam was of the opinion that people were people and that was that. He never expected take a liking to Mercedes Jones, though. Mostly because it was stupid. It was asking for trouble, but Sam couldn't help it. She was just so beautiful.

So when he saw signs stuck on her locker door each day saying "Get Out", Sam asked for a bathroom pass, and, on the way, he ripped the sign off Mercedes' locker, and threw it in the trash. He couldn't risk being seen doing it, not because he was a coward but because it was genuinely dodgy. There were people, even in Ohio, who were angry enough to kill due to their hate.

For a while, he and Mercedes shared small smiles in the cafeteria, from across the room. For a while, he watched her, envious at her ability to make As and Bs despite the classmates who kicked her chair and threw her books out in the rain, while the teacher did nothing to stop it. Sam was lucky if he could make a C. Words didn't make sense to him. Super hero comics, sure. Give him Flash Gordon, Spiderman, or the Fantastic Four any day over academics.

As the year wore on, Sam found that he couldn't continue doing his own version of saving the day when no one was watching. When he walked toward the boys' locker room after gym and was stopped by Kurt Hummel, who cautioned him not to go in, because there was broken glass on the floor, Sam swallowed his anger. He knew it was meant for the boys who were hated for the same reason Mercedes was hated: simply for the color of their skin. And he knew that if the boys were facing this, Mercedes had to be enduring her own kind of torture. One that Sam was sure they were discouraged from fighting back against. It didn't seem fair. Sam wished he could help. He wished he could do something more meaningful than sneaking away and stealing kisses at their secret rendezvous point, where, hopefully, no one would see them.

His chance came the very next day, when he spotted Mercedes being shoved hard from behind, her books scattering everywhere.

"Hey!" he said, grabbing David Karofsky by the letterman jacket.

"Hay is for horses," David said, easily shaking Sam off. "What's your problem?"

"Don't treat people like that," Sam said seriously.

"She doesn't count…besides, she _deserves _it, coming into our school, like she _belongs _here," David scoffed.

"It's fine, Sam," Mercedes commented quietly, gathering up her books.

"Oh, it's fine, _Sam._ Who is she? Your girlfriend?" David sneered.

Sam's heartbeat sped up, making him feel ashamed. He couldn't speak. But he reached out and helped Mercedes pick up her books. He hoped she knew he really wanted to hold her hand right now. But it wouldn't be safe.

Mercedes got up quickly. Nothing kept her down for long. She walked to her locker and as she opened it, she gasped, finding the inside covered with ink. Her books, papers, her jacket, all destroyed.

"Are you all right?" a new voice asked.

Sam knew without turning that it was Kurt Hummel. His voice was as high as a girl's but he tried to lower it, and paid attention to how he carried himself. Because, just like it was risky for Mercedes to be who she was, the same was true for Kurt. The only difference was, Kurt could try to blend in, maybe marry a woman and carry on that way, lying and privately dying inside and dreaming of the day he could marry Blaine Anderson, the boy in the junior class he was always staring at. But there was no way Mercedes could take off the color of her skin. It made her a target every day.

"Just fine, Kurt. Thank you," Mercedes answered.

Only Sam noticed how she never looked him directly in the eyes. It was part of the unspoken rules around here. Stay submissive, not subversive. Don't make trouble, and you won't be _in_ trouble. Sam hated it. He loved her eyes. He would live with being banned from all his family get-togethers forever if it meant he got to see those eyes - that smile - every day for the rest of his life.

But this was Ohio. This was the '60's and change seemed so far off…as distant and unlikely as lightning in a drought.

_The End._


	14. Pepto Bismol

**Summary: **After Marley collapses at Sectionals, it messes with Sam's head. Santana is an unlikely help. Allusions to seasons two through four. WARNING: This prompt features eating-disordered thinking. Idea and the character of Sam requested by Tara621.

**Prompt: **Pepto Bismol

Things are better now - way better than they were sophomore year - but it doesn't take much for the house of cards that is Sam Evans' self-control to start collapsing. After Marley faints, and a big deal is made about all of her crap…well…it sort of makes all of his come back.

It was based in a good place, Sam firmly believes this. Stevie and Stacey had to eat, and there hadn't been money. So, Sam had sold everything that mattered, and let them have what he might have eaten. If he skipped breakfast and dinner, it was one more breakfast and dinner for them.

Then, he started noticing things. Benefits. Like, how he lost his gut after a while and his abs were really awesome. Later, he used them to help his family, too. Because in order to work where he worked - to make the big tips - he needed the best body. He needed the muscles and no fat, and that definition.

Living at Kurt and Finn's was awesome, and all, until he realized that Burt Hummel wasn't about to let him keep going on the way he had been. After Sam freaked out about the fat not being removed from his piece of chicken (totally not cool when a family was letting him live in their house) Burt and Carole had called his parents and asked if there was anything they should know about Sam. He didn't have his own room here. He slept in the living room, so there was no privacy. So, yeah, he heard everything. The way Burt talked about seeing him exercise a lot. How Carole got concerned once when she saw Sam without a shirt, because she could see all the bones in his back. They got permission from his parents to get Sam into this treatment program, and it had worked. Burt and Carole refused to cater to his weirdness in the kitchen and things had gotten better. Or so he'd thought. Until Marley dropped like a ton of bricks onstage. That brought it all back.

Now, it's more than a little strange, because both Kurt and Finn are out of the house. It's weird being the only kid at home in a house that isn't his. He misses his parents and Stevie and Stacey, but he's settled here. So he has to deal with things the way they are now. Now, it's just him, Burt and Carole. Finn has his own place. Sam had just given him antacid as a joke, in case of the show choir squirts, but as it turned out, Finn hadn't needed the help. It was Marley.

And it's him.

And Burt's sick. So he can't be as firm in the kitchen. No one notices when Sam hits the weights a little harder. It feels great to work out again, after he's been banned from it because he couldn't do it responsibly. It feels good, and exhilarating.

He gets home that afternoon and stands in the kitchen, feeling freaked out. Feeling hungry. But, no he's not. He's spent a long time getting his body to the place where it needed to be, and then he moved here, and it got all messed up. He can't stop thinking about Kitty. He knows she's got stuff. He knows it could help. Just as he's about to text her he stops himself. Tries to breathe, because what is he doing, asking Kitty Wilde for anything? Santana called her out, though. She had been the only one. So, maybe…

He presses buttons on his phone without looking and is beyond grateful when she picks up.

"Sam Evans," she greets. "I've got finals. This better be damn important."

"I'm calling you instead of Kitty," he admits, his voice shaking a little.

"Always smart," she says, cutting but sincere at the same time. They dated. She knows him. She gets him. Without him even having to say anything. "Wait…Kitty the evil rexy-making bitch? Are you, like, mentally losing your shit right now?" she insists, her tone intense and clipped.

"Kinda, yeah."

"What do you need?"

"Not sure."

"Well, do me a favor? Stay on the phone with me until you're sure," Santana says.

"I thought you were busy," Sam argues.

"Yeah, well, something came up, okay?" she mutters, defensive.

"Something, like what?"

"Something like a friend needs me, and I'm not about to screw up with you the way I screwed up with Marley."

"Will it ease your guilty conscience?" he ribs.

"Maybe. Now what's up? Tell me for real."

"Well, it started when Marley collapsed at Sectionals…" Sam admits, telling the truth for the first time in days and feeling the healthy part of him get a little stronger.

_The End._


	15. Cuddling

**Summary: **Santana, Brittany, Kurt and Blaine go on a double-date. Set in Season 3. Requested by: AponiRainbow.

**Prompt: **Cuddling

The booths at Breadstix were the perfect size for getting their cuddle on. Santana almost didn't even mind that Brittany had invited Blaine and Kurt and the last minute, and that they sat across from them, watching everything. It was how they did things. But it was different, because Kurt and Blaine obviously were turned on by each other, not by watching them.

Kurt was free with his affection, bumping Blaine's shoulder, and Santana was pretty sure Brittany was up for anything. But personally? Santana hadn't moved much beyond hand-holding under a napkin, and Blaine seemed uncomfortable all the time. Probably because anybody walking by might assume that she and Brittany each dating one of the Wonder Twins. Or, they could know them. In which case, it was a crapshoot whether or not they would get disapproving looks or loser comments.

"So, how's your eye, Cyclops?" Santana asked Blaine, who was still wearing the patch.

"You look like a pirate," Brittany observed in her quiet monotone. "A nice pirate," she amended.

"Thank you?" Blaine nodded. "And my eye should be good as new in a few weeks."

Santana glanced at Kurt. "What's up, Prancy? You've said, like, next to nothing since we got here."

"It's nothing," he shook his head.

"It's clearly something. Spit it out so we can enjoy our spaghetti and unlimited supply of breadsticks."

"My poor unicorn," Brittany soothed, reaching out to touch Kurt's hand. A flash of jealousy sparked through Santana. Still, she wasn't about to hold Anderson's hand.

"I still can't believe Mr. Schue's doing nothing about Sebastian almost blinding you," Kurt commented quietly. "And he won't let _us _do anything either!

"Correction. I did something totally awesome and all of you shot it down," Santana insisted.

"I love all your ideas," Brittany whispered. "Especially the one about us taking a bath together. And the other one about us playing Marco Polo in the hot tub last summer."

Blaine raised the eyebrow Santana could see, but said nothing.

"We need a cheesecake," Kurt decided. He raised a hand and snapped a few times, in a way that Santana appreciated, but that made Blaine grimace. Or maybe it was the comment about Sebastian. Whatever.

"I have a better idea," Brittany said. "Let's go back to my house. We can all share my bed and eat ice cream and cuddle as much as we want."

"Sounds good to me," Blaine confirmed, surprising Santana. He stood up, totally ruining her plans to dine and ditch by asking for the check and taking care of the whole thing himself.

Normally, Santana would have balked at the idea, but when all four of them somehow managed to fit on Brittany's bed, passing around a carton of Baskin-Robbins Love Potion ice cream (that Brittany fully believed had magical powers) and then found themselves with their arms wrapped around their respective loves…it didn't seem that lame after all.

And as Brittany leaned in for a kiss, even Santana started to believe in the power of that ice cream.

_The End._


	16. Hands

**Summary: **Santana corners Rachel in the bathroom, to find out what's really behind her desire for a nose job. Allusions to 2x18, "Born This Way." Characters requested by: AponiRainbow.

**Prompt: **Hands

"So, seriously, Medusa. I'm all for it, but just tell me the truth. Why are you getting a damn nose job?" Santana insists, crossing her arms. She's not below cornering Berry in the bathrooms. When she does, she catches her studying her schnoz in the mirror.

"Why do you _care_?" Rachel snaps back, her bruised eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Santana shrugs. "I don't. It just doesn't make sense."

"If it makes my voice better, I'll do whatever it takes," Rachel mutters stubbornly.

"People don't just get nose jobs," Santana lowers her voice to a whisper "or _boob jobs _because they might make you sing better. Trust me. Been there, done that. So, I know better than to trust your weak damn excuses. You're getting a nose job is gonna change your entire face," she says plainly.

"I thought you _wanted _me to get a nose job. You said it's a beak and I use it to crack hard seeds," Rachel points out.

"You're not talking about going through a ridiculously painful procedure because anybody approves. You annoy the hell out of me every day and you 're confident enough in that. So, level with me. What is it about this?" Santana gestures vaguely to Rachel's face.

"I don't want to look like her," Rachel confides.

"Like who?" Santana snaps, impatient.

"Miss Corcoran."

And just like that Santana can't speak. It had been like that for her - well, not _just like that _- but similar enough. Hating herself enough to alter her body in hopes that she might attract boys. In hopes that she might be straight after all. Even though she can't speak the words yet, the truth sits inside her like something burning. She had her own surgery and it hadn't fixed what was really wrong. She still wasn't straight. Her face flushes and she shakes her head, snapping herself out of it.

"You think that by changing your _nose_, you're gonna suddenly stop resembling her?" Santana insists. "What about your hands? Your eyes? Your chin? Your mouth? What about the millions of features that you got from your biological father? Do you want to get rid of them even though you've never seen the guy?" she demanded. "I'm all for self-improvement, but seriously? This is messed up. You need to seriously think about why you're doing this. By getting rid of Miss Corcoran, you're getting rid of you. Make the damn shirt for glee club, but don't put yourself through hell just because you think it'll make the problems in your life disappear. Take it from me, they'll still be there when you come out of that anesthesia. And you'll feel a hell of a lot worse than when Finn clocked you," Santana smiles wryly, trying to lighten the mood.

"I know," Rachel admits, her eyes studying the tiny tiles on the bathroom floor.

"Why Quinn?" Santana asks, after it's clear that the mood in here won't be lightened. "There are a million girls whose noses you could model yours after."

And when Rachel raises her head and Santana sees the tears in her eyes Santana has to fight not to turn and run like hell in the other direction. She can't deal with crying. Or this eye-contact. It's too intense.

Then, finally, Rachel speaks, and it sounds like a prayer:

"She kept Beth."

_The End._


	17. Trade

**Summary: **Quinn stays late in dance rehearsal the night before Nationals in 3x21. Even though Brittany could leave, she doesn't. Characters requested by AponiRainbow.

**Prompt: **Trade

Rehearsing choreography for Nationals is harder than Quinn lets on. She stumbles more than once. She shouldn't have stumbled at all, but it's only been three months since the accident, and little things are unexpectedly hard. Things like keeping her balance. Standing for long periods of time. The fact that she is even considering doing full choreography is a little ridiculous, but Quinn has always had a knack for embracing challenges.

She hasn't forgotten just how intense Brittany is when running things. Quinn knows she is expected to keep up, and she appreciates being treated the same as she was before. Still, the pace is daunting. And for someone who once prided herself on possessing a strong core and a natural grace, struggling to keep up is embarrassing. Still, Quinn keeps trying.

They rehearse for another hour, and when everyone else turns in for the night, Quinn stays awake. Brittany's the last to go, and she hesitates at the door.

"Are you coming?" Brittany asks, after placing a call to housekeeping to request a fresh pillow and blanket. Thanks to their ridiculous fighting earlier that day, everything had gone crazy for a bit. Quinn had stayed close to Tina, with a hand on her shoulder, because chaos made her more nervous now than ever before. Unexpected loud sounds and chaos didn't mesh well with Quinn's anxiety. Thanks to the accident, she is always on high alert for anything that seems out of the ordinary.

"No," Quinn shakes her head. She is exhausted. Sweat is rolling down her back, and she can feel her body fighting her on this, but if Quinn has learned anything from her months in physical therapy, it's that with enough hard will follow. The amount of work you put in is usually, directly proportionate to the results you'll see. With Quinn's physical situation, it means she needs to put in twice the effort to get half the results. Hence, the staying late.

Brittany stops, and then comes farther into the room, watching Quinn run the choreography. "It's harder now?" she asks, because she can. Because they've known each other for years.

"Yeah. But I'm not stopping until I have this down. I don't want to be the reason we don't win."

"You won't be," Brittany says, sounding confident. "Still…I wish I could take your place."

Quinn cringes. Hopefully, Brittany will think it's an emotional reaction, not a physical one. Which, it is. "No way. This totally sucks. I wouldn't want that for you. Besides, you'd go nuts if you couldn't dance."

"Aren't _you_?" Brittany presses gently. "I remember taking dance together as kids. We were always competing against each other…"

"…and you were always better," Quinn sighs.

"That's not what I was going to say. I was going to _say_ that you love it. And I'm sorry it's hard for you. And I'd give it up right now if it meant you could have something you loved back."

Quinn blinks. "That's…really nice of you, but not necessary. I'm going to learn this choreography and it's going to look amazing. Will you help me?"

"Of course," Brittany nods and starts calling out beats for Quinn.

They work late into the night, but it's worth it…because the next day…they win.

_The End._


	18. Stripes

**Summary: **The Unholy Trinity's first sleepover after Quinn's car accident. Can be read as a sequel to "Together." Characters requested by: AponiRainbow.

**Prompt: **Stripes: _status or recognition as a result of one's efforts, experience, or achievements._

The first sleepover the Unholy Trinity had after Quinn's accident was different, in that, there weren't impromptu dance-offs, or tumbling passes in the yard. They didn't chase each other around like they used to. It wasn't as busy. Normally, Quinn would hate that, but actually, it ended up being a good thing. They got to talk. And Quinn got to feel normal, because Santana and Brittany didn't treat her differently.

They didn't burst into tears around her like Rachel, or treat her like her fate was sealed the way Artie did. It was refreshing, and it helped give her hope in the face of a really depressing time.

The sleepover grew from a random decision to stop at Brittany's instead of driving two hours for churros. It turned out, though, that Quinn's tolerance for riding in cars wasn't quite built up yet. She ended up having a totally embarrassing panic attack, but Santana's idea to go to Brittany's and make homemade churros instead had turned the tide and Quinn had started feeling better.

They spent the evening watching movies and trying to keep Rory out of the way. He had a major crush on Santana, which only seemed to grow in intensity whenever she yelled at him, threatened to beat him up, or pinned him to the ground. At least it made for some good laughs. God knew Quinn hadn't had many of those lately.

When they finally decided to crash, Brittany made the executive decision that Quinn would have her bed, while she and Santana slept on the floor.

"You guys really don't have to do that," Quinn objected.

"No, I want to. Besides, it's way funner for Santana and me if we cuddle inside a sleeping bag anyway. You'd totally be doing us a favor," Brittany insisted, having effortlessly carried Quinn into her bedroom and setting her in bed.

But long after Brittany and Santana dropped off, Quinn found she was still awake. She'd never really had a problem with the dark before. She shouldn't have been worrying about it now. It was just that the only pieces of the accident she could remember involved pain and darkness. And that feeling of being so, so alone.

"Hey. You okay?" Santana's voice carried up from the floor.

"Yeah. Why?" Quinn asked, her voice brusque and a little harsh.

"Because your breathing's all weird again," Santana said, like she was vaguely irritated. "All right. Don't freak out. I'm coming in," she warned, and Quinn felt the bed give. Santana gently moved her toward the wall. "Britt. Wake up," Santana whispered.

"Huh?" Brittany yawned.

"We're relocating. Get up here," Santana insisted.

Quinn just barely made out Brittany's shadow, moving from the floor to the foot of her bed.

Without even speaking, Brittany seemed to sense what was going on. She curled up near Quinn's feet and mumbled sleepily: "You know we were there for you, don't you? We waited in the waiting room for hours until that surgeon came out, and told us that you were going to be okay."

Quinn hadn't known, actually. She lay there in silence as Brittany's breathing evened out. "Is she right?"

"Yeah," Santana confirmed.

"And you were with me after that, I remember…" Quinn thought back. Waking up and only remembering snatches from before. The blaring of a horn. Metal crunching around her. Machinery. Intense voices. Bright lights. Blinding pain. A mask that she didn't think she could tolerate from the moment they secured it on her face.

Santana didn't say anything, but Quinn could tell she was awake. Wordlessly, Quinn found her hand and threaded their fingers together. Without being able to feel it, she knew Brittany was twined around their ankles and feet.

They were connected.

"Will you promise me something?" Quinn asked, her voice quiet and low.

"What?" Santana mumbled, sounding tired.

"Promise me, no matter what happens…if I screw up a million times in the future…or graduate at the top of my class from Yale…if you and Britt go off and get married and have a million kids, or if you don't…promise me we'll always be here for each other."

Wordless, Santana squeezed her hand. From Quinn's feet, she heard a tired confirmation: "You'll never be rid of us, no matter what," from Brittany.

Quinn's eyes fell closed then, and she breathed a little easier, with her friends surrounding her.

Yes, the accident had marked her, but Quinn knew that to Santana and Brittany, it didn't matter. It didn't matter because all three had things that marked them. Brittany had a gullibility, and a processing disorder that made her seem vague and distant, when she was really empathetic and intuitive. Santana's mean streak drove people away, but Quinn knew it served as a shield for her true feelings and vulnerability.

They were the same - each wearing stripes from the hardships they endured - and Quinn knew if they stuck together, they would be okay.

_The End._


	19. Viola

**Summary: **Brittany comes and talks to Coach Sylvester about getting Santana a cheerleading scholarship to the University of Louisville. Allusions to 3x16, "Saturday Night Glee-ver." Requested by: AponiRainbow.

**Prompt: **Viola

"Coach?" Brittany asked, knocking on the doorframe.

"Brittany? Why aren't you in class?" Coach Sylvester asked.

"Because. I need to talk to you. I'm worried about Santana. She keeps saying she wants to be famous no matter what. And Coach, I've seen _The Kardashians_. I know what that can lead to…"

"Brittany, as usual, your logic is as confusing as it is infuriating. What do you need to say? Spit it out."

"I want to get Santana a cheer scholarship to the University of Louisville," Brittany explained. "They have a great program. They care about the students and the athletes and Santana needs that. She needs something to give her a place to start. Everyone can't just make it on TV or in movies because they want to. You have to fill out applications for _The Amazing Race_ or _The Bachelor_, and I know, that the bachelor is really mean. And I don't want that for Santana. Plus the applications for the University of Louisville are way easier to fill out than the reality TV ones. I know everything that Santana can do in cheerleading. I _don't know_ if she would shoot a watermelon out of a slingshot… So, will you help me?"

"Why do you want to do something like this for her?" Coach pressed.

"Because I love her."

"_Besides_ that! I need to be compelled here! Compel me!"

"Because…I don't want her to sell herself short. One of us has already done that, and at least, if I have to tell her I'm not graduating with her, she can have something to look forward to anyway…. And I want an excuse to say 'viola.'

"Beg your pardon?"

"Viola," Brittany repeated. "It's like, French, or something. It's what you say when you want to give somebody a really great present, or you did something nice for them."

"Oh, sweet Brittany," Coach Sue sighed. "First, the term is _voilà_, and secondly? If you put half the care and forethought you put into Santana's future into your own? You'd be graduating this year."

"I know. I'm going to do it next year. I promise. Then, I can meet up with Santana in Louisville and we can move wherever marriage is legal and have cheerleading babies. With pompoms."

Coach Sue stared blankly. "What do you need from me?"

"Just…" Brittany began, rifling through her bag and pulling out a scrap of paper with a web address. "Fill out the application on their website and write the essay pretending to be Santana…and maybe include a recommendation if she needs one…I tried, but it wouldn't accept my answers."

"Not surprising at all…"

"I think I'm too smart for it…"

"Highly unlikely, unless you start to put forth some real effort." Coach mused. "All right. I'll make you a deal. You work on yourself and your schoolwork and I'll worry about Santana. Understand?"

"Thank you so much, Coach! You're the best!" Brittany exclaimed, rushing out of the office.

"Brittany!"

"What?"

"Your backpack?" Coach pointed, where Brittany's bag still sat, open, beside the chair.

"Yeah, I'm gonna leave it there while I find Santana and tell her the good news."

"There's nothing to tell yet. When there is, I'll call you both in, and we'll tell her together. Now kindly take your waxy, crayon-smelling backpack, and get out of my office."

"Viola!" Brittany exclaimed, hiding her bag behind her back. "It's gone!"

And soon, thank goodness, so was Brittany, leaving one Sue Sylvester to do some much needed research on a certain Kentucky university.


	20. Waves

**Summary: **AU - Glee in the 50s - Quinn is a socialite, others cast as you see fit. Requested by: Tara621.

**Prompt: **Waves

For Quinn Fabray, her entire collegiate experience was marked by parties. Whom was with whom, of the utmost importance. She could not be Russell and Judith Fabray's daughter and _not _attend the most gossiped about social event. Of course, the most gossiped about social event in New Haven was soon-to-be her own wedding to Samuel Evans. It would be beautiful, if she promised herself.

Tonight, as she and Sam wove their way in and out of dancing couples expertly, Quinn frowned in the direction of one of the girls she had the misfortune of sharing a dormitory with. She was called Sugar, and refused to tell anyone what it a nickname for. She was tiny, and elegant and most definitely screwing one of the professors. Quinn's eyebrows rose as she watched Sugar sweet-talk her way into a man's arms, whisper in his ear.

"She has no shame at all, does she?" Quinn mused.

"Why worry about her? Let's worry about us," Sam reassured, leading her around the floor.

"You're right."

Thoughts engulfed her head, one after another, after another…and Quinn felt as if she were drowning. But, as usual, no one could tell. Because no one wanted to look past the image. The perfect New Haven girl. The Fabray girl. The center of attention. She was defined by events. By places. By others. And, most especially, by falsehood. Because, she was not Quinn at all. Not really. Reluctantly, she attended to the thoughts rolling like waves through her mind. "Let's worry about us," Sam had said.

_Let's worry, indeed. Let's worry that I'm marrying you and at risk of being disowned by my parents because your family isn't well-off. Let's worry that we look the part - we're both blonde, blue-eyed, perfect. We can smile on command - but have little else in common. Let's worry that you love me. I know you do. But I also know you want someone who is not in danger of losing absolutely everything she's ever held dear. Someone who has never, and will never have to work. Let's worry that you love me, and I love you, but I don't know if that will ever be enough._

"Oh, excuse me!" a voice exclaimed, apologetic and more than a little tipsy. At least, Quinn thought so until she turned around. Rachel stood before her, deliriously happy, arms wrapped around her beau, Kurt. When Rachel was happy, she was exceedingly so. Likewise for Kurt, who loved Rachel as if she were something rare and precious - the way Quinn wished Sam loved her - but knew he didn't.

Marlene - Quinn's third roommate, who went by Marley - stood awkwardly aside. She was a wallflower through and through. She remained shy and ordinary, without proper attire. She stood out like an eyesore at a fancy event such as this. In her hand-me-down dress she borrowed from the other girls, and tried to cast off as her own. She was sweet enough, but unlike Sugar, who had a core of strength, Marley had no such thing, and was vulnerable to teasing and cruel jokes. The devil in Quinn enjoyed bringing Marley down. If only so that Quinn would not feel so isolated in her pretty dress. Her perfect face. Her false smile, always in place.

A young man approached her, Quinn noted. Ryder-something. He was smooth and handsome in his suit. Letting go of Sam, Quinn breezed by Marley and Ryder. "You should go for him," Quinn whispered, when Ryder stepped away. "He's dumber than a box of rocks. He wont know he's settling for the daughter of a _cafeteria worker_," Quinn spat with appropriate scorn.

"Why do you have to be so awful to people?" Rachel whispered harshly. "Especially to someone who would never react in kind?"

"Because," Quinn said, her tone cold. "She would never react in kind."

_The End._


	21. Tricky

**Summary: **Blaine helps Marley in dance rehearsal. Inspired by the end of the Behind the Scenes of the Sadie Hawkins episode. Characters requested by: Movies'N'TVfan101

**Prompt: **Tricky

Everyone tries to help. Well, not everyone. But the ones who do - Marley has to believe that they're well-meaning. In the end, though, it's what _isn't _said that brings the most comfort. While Finn looks at her with concerned eyes whenever anyone in glee has a snack - which they aren't even allowed to bring into class anyway - and while Ryder tells her stories about relatives with bulimia…while everyone tells her to stop. To just eat. That she looks sick. That she is losing _way _too much weight. It doesn't help.

Because she knows all these things already. And she's trying to get better. She's working on this for a while, but it's a deep symptom of a deeper problem, and it's going to take time.

No one is perfect. Marley knows this more than most. She knows Blaine isn't a saint or a savior. It's not easy avoiding the pitfalls of being around her - of being _normal _around her - and leaving everything related to her body, and food, out of the picture. Somehow, though, Blaine manages.

Marley thinks back over all the time she's been in glee club - knowing it's not really been that long - but still. She thinks about every remark he has ever made and she can't think of one time Blaine paid attention to that stuff. He always tried to build her up. Encouraging her. And while it made her feel really uncomfortable at first, eventually, she started getting used to it.

So now, they're in rehearsals, because Regionals are back on. It's dancing and it's strenuous, and her mind is going to weird places, but at least Kitty's left her alone lately. Still, dancing isn't Marley's strong suit. It might never be. And that's honestly, more than a little crushing to her.

"Hey," Blaine says, surprising her. It's weird to be thinking about someone and then to have them just appear. It's as if he can read her thoughts. "I remember when I joined last year. I felt so out of my depth. I mean, I'm _okay_, but I'm no Mike Chang," he says with a disarming smile, taking a drink from his water bottle and offering it to her without hesitation.

It's so seamless, so honest, so beyond any ulterior motives that Marley accepts. She takes a drink, too. "I'm _okay_," she echoes, "but I'm no Jake Puckerman."

"But you're progressing. That's what counts, right?" he asks, sending her a hopeful smile. There is nothing at all romantic about it - besides - Tina pretty much has the market cornered on crushing on Blaine, and Marley is with Jake. And that is pretty great.

"I guess," she echoes, a little breathless. "How did you get better?" she asks, as he turns to walk away.

"Practice," he nods. "I'm a firm believer that practice makes progress, and nothing is perfect…and that's okay. Here, let me show you," he says, coming over to stand beside her. "It's left, left, one, two, three. Try not to look down at your feet. You know the steps. Just believe you can do it. Head up. Look at the back wall. Ready?"

"Ready," she says, feeling like this is right. She has told Jake he cannot teach her dance, and he's been sweet about it. Knowing she can never measure up to a talent like his messes with her head. Inflates her perfectionism.

Blaine counts them off, and Marley focuses on the back wall of the auditorium. She lifts her head, and begins, bit by bit, to trust herself.

_The End._


	22. Cut

**Summary: **Jake is a child of rape. He knows this, and that's why he is so angry. Requested by Tara621. Allusions to early Season 4. (Also very similarly requested in the Glee Angst Meme.) *_This prompt is rated M for discussion of rape and should be read with care.*_

**Prompt: **Cut

The last thing Jake wants to do is join glee club. The last thing he wants is for Mr. Schuester to think that he can be some kind of role model for him.

He doesn't give a rat's ass about his brother - hates that Schuester knew him and judges Jake based on that. Jake is _not _his brother. Sharing DNA doesn't make you related…and the comment Jake made about his father being like an NBA player? Totally true. For all he knows, there _might_ be fifty other Puckerman's running around. Or they could have been given their mother's name. Not like him.

See, for all Jake said…here's what he _didn't _say: his brother - whoever the hell he is - doesn't know this. No one knows this. No one but his mother and himself.

Jake isn't just a child out of wedlock. He isn't just biracial and Jewish and _pissed_ at everyone… Jake Puckerman is a child of rape. And he knows it.

He _has _known it for years. Ever since he realized that most kids' moms didn't look at them and tear up. Not from being proud of the kid, but because of fear. Because when he asked about his father, his mom had been totally honest. Even though Jake was seven at the time, he understood and internalized it. His presence is not just salt in a cut that can't heal; to his mother, he is a reminder of a gaping wound.

Jake doesn't need Noah telling him what it means to be tough, or how many threesomes he's had, by what age. He knows he'll never force a girl to do anything she isn't ready for. Not because of any damn advice from his brother…and not because of any damn glee club lesson…

It's because of the look in his mother's eyes that she thinks he can't see. It's in the way she hesitates to touch him, and keeps her distance even when he was little. Even when he was hurt. It's in the words he overheard late one night when he was too small to understand what they meant: "How can I love my son the way he deserves to be loved…when all I can see is the face of the man who violated me? …It's why I gave Jake _his_ last name instead of my own…"

Jake is not his brother and he sure as hell isn't his father. He's not his mother, either. Deep down, he feels like he was more honest than he meant to be when signing up for glee auditions, with only his first name.

He really is "just Jake".

There is no way in hell he can tell people what it's like to be who he is. To know that without this monster, without this violation of his mother, Jake would simply, not exist. That he frequently feels indebted to her based on the fact that she didn't choose to end the pregnancy.

Jake's grateful. He _is_. But he's also so, _so _angry. Why couldn't his damn sperm donor, father, whatever he is, _just listen_ to his mother? Why did he have to break her down so much? Why couldn't Jake ever have the chance to know his mother as the person she had been, instead of this shadow of herself? But then, if that had happened, Jake wouldn't be here…

He has never been able to tell his mom anything that really matters. That's why he stayed up late for those three nights practicing his audition song from behind his closed bedroom door. Because maybe, that way, his mom can hear from a safe distance, that he loves her.

She doesn't let him know she's heard him. She doesn't say she loves him. But she doesn't bang on the bedroom wall either and tell him to stop, so Jake keeps playing. And that next day, he gets up and sings, only to be abruptly cut off by Schuester.

When he knocks over the music stand, Schuester doesn't call him out. Kurt Hummel does. But Jake doesn't bother picking it up. Glee club is supposed to be open to differences and all that crap - about seeing beyond the surface - but they won't.

No, Jake won't join glee.

He'll do what the song says. He'll keep his mouth shut about what matters. He'll pretend he doesn't see the way his mom's smile doesn't reach her eyes.

But he won't stop hoping that she heard him singing that song, night after night in September, and heard it for what Jake felt it was: a song about them. A promise to her, and a plea for her not to give up on him.

Because, no matter what happens, Jake can't change himself. He'll always be half-black, half-white, half-victim, half-aggressor. Half broken, and half breaker. He has control over so little in his life. So he exerts in one of the only ways he can. He says no. To everything. Whether it's good for him or not.

It's for his mother, really. He says no a thousand times a day, to try to make up for the one time she said it and wasn't listened to…as if it makes a difference…

Still, Jake finds, he has to try.

_The End._


	23. Twins

**Summary**: A follow up to my Between Friends prompt 22, "Five," where we are introduced to Santana and Brittany's five boys. Requested by Tara621.

**Prompt: **Twins

"I wish I had a twin," Ori complained, in the car on the way to Berry's apartment.

"Who do you know that has a twin?" Santana wondered.

"Lots of kids, especially ones in my class at school," Ori explained from the backseat. "If I had a twin, that would be the best thing ever, because we'd like all the same stuff."

"You and _I _like the same stuff," Santana pointed out. It was true enough. Both had affinities for Mexican food, basketball, and cuddling.

There was a pause as Ori considered this. It was long enough that it made Santana grateful for this time with just him. She didn't know why they'd decided to take three vehicles to get to Rachel, but that's how it had worked out. Her with Ori, Britt with Galen and Ethan and Hani with Jayden.

"Mama?" Ori's thoughtful voice carried from behind her. "Does that mean _we're _twins?"

Santana laughed. "What do you think?" she asked.

"I think…you're my twin _and _Jayden's twin, 'cause all of us match. And Mommy's twins with Ethan and Galen, because all of them match…and Hani…he can be both of your twins since he matches both you and Mommy."

"Awesome," Santana smiled to herself. She couldn't wait to share Ori's twin logic with Britt later.

In the meantime, they pulled up in front of Rachel's building, and Ori rushed to get out.

"When we go inside, it's just like school, understand? No running in the halls, no yelling, no knocking on any doors except Rachel's."

"Just if it's on accident," Ori supplied.

"Right," Santana nodded, taking his hand.

They met up in the parking lot - Britt keeping track of Ethan and Jayden, and Galen and Hani trailing each other. She got to the buzzer first, and punched the button to dial Rachel.

"Hello?" her irritating voice asked…but Santana had to admit…it _had_ grown less irritating with the passing of the years.

"It's Brittany, b-"

"Britt!" Santana hissed. "You can't say that around them, unless you want them sounding all foul-mouthed."

Inexplicably, they were buzzed in, and Santana, Brittany and the boys made their way up the elevator and down the hall to Rachel's place. Jayden proudly used the door-knocker.

"Hey, guys!" Rachel said, a genuine smile crossing her face. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a midday visit from my favorite New York family?"

"It's Lopez-Pierce love-bombing time!" Ori cheered, obviously forgetting Santana's instruction about not yelling. He ran at Rachel, propelling himself into her arms. Instead of being annoyed, Rachel laughed out loud, and spun him around. The other boys hung back a little, but she took turns greeting all of them.

"Hope you don't mind that we just dropped in like this," Britt apologized. "But the boys wanted to see you…and _we _wanted to see you."

"Of course. Come. Make yourself at home. Would any of you care for a snack?" Rachel asked.

"Pizza," Ethan piped up.

"Dude, that's not polite," Galen muttered.

"If she _asked_ doesn't she want to know what I want?" Ethan stage-whispered.

"No, it means she's offering what _she _wants to offer, and we should be polite and accept it…" Galen insisted quietly.

"I don't have pizza, but I _do have _some super-delicious Endurance Crackers, and I can whip up some Rehydration Smoothies, too. No problem."

"What's a hydrangea smoothie?" Jayden asked comically making his brothers snicker.

"It's like a dessert," Rachel encouraged. "It's really good, I promise."

"Listen, Rachel, don't worry about it. We know you're busy. We're not staying. We just wanted to stop in and say hi," Santana explained.

"Don't be silly. I won't have guests in my house and not feed them. So, how are you guys? Hani, are you getting excited for drama school?"

"Absolutely. I look forward to it. It's some stiff competition, though."

"It is, but you'll make it," Rachel encouraged. "And you have to invite me to your first show," she invited.

"Hey, Rachel how's your dad?" Brittany asked, while Santana tried to keep Ori from exploring Rachel's bedroom.

"He's doing well. The heart attack slowed him down some, but he's doing well. Daddy and I are planning a big birthday party for him this year."

Santana had finally convinced Ori to sit on the couch with her when Rachel brought the snacks over. She and Britt eyed them dubiously, but wanting to set a good example, each took one cracker and one smoothie.

All the boys followed suit, a little more hesitantly. Ori bit into a cracker and made a face. But it was Ethan who spoke up first.

"This tastes like birdseed," he pointed out, still chewing.

"Hey, that's not a bad thing," Brittany commented. "We eat birds all the time, right? Chicken, and turkey? _They _eat birdseed. So, in a way, you kind of always have eaten birdseed anyway, and chicken and turkeys are delicious."

Ethan sighed. "I guess," and took another bite.

"See?" Ori twisted in Santana's lap to whisper in her ear. "Twins. I think this whole family's twins. Know why? 'Cause it's not about matching skin, it's about matching hearts."

_The End_


	24. Innocence

**Summary: **What does Unique think when she finds herself dancing with Joe during _This Is the New Year_? Characters and idea requested by Tara621.

**Prompt: **Innocence

When Unique sees Joe Hart, she thinks of churches, so she keeps her distance.

It's not that Unique doesn't love churches, she does, actually. The architecture, the pretty windows, the music she makes when no one is around, and how the place has a kind of sacred feeling. The feeling Unique has inside an empty sanctuary is unlike any other feeling. It's peace and it's acceptance. It's the people inside them, who generally, don't love her.

They aren't obvious about it. It's in the subtler things. The way every single member of the congregation greets one another with handshakes and hugs, but no one touches her. They speak to her, but those who know her are curt and don't look her in the eye. Newcomers don't know there's a reason to judge her yet. They don't see the dress and the heels and the makeup as a disguise or the devil's work. They see it as genuine, which is what Unique sees. It's in the way - every single time the pastor gives a sermon about anything - she felt singled out, judged and shamed. Even when she was very little. When she talked to people about it they told her that was God trying to tell her something. That feeling guilty wasn't normal unless she had something to feel guilty about.

Did she?

Did everyone feel as bad as she did? To be honest, Unique couldn't tell. None of the rest of them were hiding the way she felt she was. Their brains all matched their bodies. Not like hers. No one was like her.

Joe has only, really, ever spoken to Unique once. In the first week of school. He called her "girl", which had been nice, but then reminded her that he thought they agreed she would only wear "that stuff" on stage.

So, four months later, when they take the stage for the song by The Great Big World, about the New Year, Unique is expecting it when she sings beside Brittany, and then Ryder without either one of them touching her. School's like church. Church is like the world.

But then something happens. They all join hands for an impromptu bridge, and Brittany runs under it. After, Unique just figures, that will be that. The rest of the song will go on like it started. Herself as an island. Everyone else paired off in different couples. But that something…

Joe doesn't let go of her as soon as possible, like Unique expected. He hangs on. He dances her to once side, looking excited. Seeming happy. There is no fear in his eyes about touching her. Joe, herself, Kitty and Blaine are all beside each other, hands clasped - all four of them leading in some kind of ballroom imaginary ballroom dance.

She barely has time to think, before they break apart, and Unique is sure, this time, she'll be on her own. But Joe couples off with her. And during the slow dance section, he holds her, the way she's seen in movies. She knows better than to read into it. But it's nice, for a minute, to believe she is just like everyone else.

When the song is over, she watches Jake help Marley to her feet. Sam helps Brittany. Ryder helps Kitty. Blaine helps Tina. Suddenly, there's a hand in front of her. She blinks and focuses on the face. Joe.

"Thanks," she says, a little shy. After all, maybe it was just for the song that he was treating her nice. They _were _onstage, after all, where he said, all those months ago, it was okay for her to be herself. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," Joe insists in that quiet way he has.

She doesn't say anything back. She can't think of anything to say. When everyone else clears out, Unique walks up and sits on the edge of the stage, her legs dangling over the edge. She isn't so surprised when Joe walks up and sits beside her.

"Why?" she asked, her throat suddenly thick with emotion.

"Why, what?" he asks.

"You don't need to do me any favors, all right? I'm fine on my own," she insists, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"Favors?" he asks like he is really confused.

"Come on. At least do me the courtesy of being honest. Why'd you help me up? Why'd you dance with me like I was just like any of the other girls?"

"Because you are."

She looks at him, temper flashing in her eyes. If he's lying right now, she won't forget it. A well-meaning lie can hurt just as much as rejection. "Since when?" she asks, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. "Last time I checked you didn't want anything to do with Unique. Unless it was onstage."

When realization hits Joe, it looks like regret. He closes his eyes for a long moment and then opens them again. "I'm sorry. I forgot I even said that…"

"I didn't." There is no judgment in her tone, just honesty.

Silence falls around them. Unique's about to get up. To walk out and not look back, but she finds she can't. Something catches at the edges of her memory, and she can't leave without asking him about it.

"When Jake joined, you told him God made him, and God doesn't make mistakes."

Joe waits, still quiet.

"Well, what about me?" she asks, willing her voice not to shake. "'Cause if God did this on purpose, I don't know if I could ever talk to him again."

Joe doesn't say anything, and Unique finds, she can't stop talking.

"Why would God make me a way that makes me hate myself? That makes other people hate me, and be afraid to touch me? Why would he do that on purpose, 'cause that does not sound very loving…" Unique sniffs, turning her face away, trying to pretend that she's not crying.

"I don't know," Joe admits. "And I'm sorry. I don't have all the answers. I wish I did. But what I think? God _doesn't _make mistakes. But people? We make them all the time. Every day. I think your spirit was meant to be in this world. And I think your spirit is exactly as God meant it to be. Our body's just a shell anyway, right? We can't take it with us. It's what's inside that matters, right?"

"Yeah, but it is nice when the outside matches what's inside…" Unique sighs.

"It is. And I'm sorry I take that for granted." And then he puts his arm around her, unprompted. It's unexpected. It's not romantic. But it is everything her heart has needed for so very long. In a way, it's no wonder Unique always saw Joe and thought of a church.

Maybe it's because the church itself isn't contained inside four walls. Maybe a church exists inside each person, so that, wherever they go, they might find - and give - sanctuary to those who need it most.

_The_ _End._


	25. Tail

**Summary: **Emma Pillsbury has not been formed from victory but from tragedy.

**Prompt: **_Tail: adjective: _coming from behind.

Emma Pillsbury has not been formed from victory but from tragedy. The moments that have made her who she is as a human being are not, ultimately, the highs, but the lowest of the lows. So, it would follow that she does not define herself based on accomplishments, or in relation to others. (When she became a guidance counselor, it's not when she said yes to marrying Ken, or Carl or Will.) But instead, from night after night in a dark hospital room when she was seventeen, with her niece.

Betty's birth, two years earlier, had been the most joyous of occasions for the Pillsbury family. Her older brother, Eric, and his wife, Brigitte, had given birth to a healthy baby girl. Of course, Emma hadn't been present for the birth. Both parents had, praying for a baby with ginger hair like theirs. And when Elisabeth Rose was born with strawberry blonde fuzz atop her tiny head everyone was happy. Emma, a high school sophomore at the time, had held the baby two days later. As she did, her parents joked with Eric about not letting Emma spend much time around the baby. They didn't want "the cleanies" rubbing off on another Pillsbury.

So, when her parents babysit Betty, (called Betty to distinguish her from Brigitte's mother, whom she was named for), Emma's parents insist she stay away from them all. And she does. She is ashamed to say that by the time the call comes, telling her family the unthinkable, Emma barely knows her niece.

It's December, 1997. A mild winter as far as Midwestern ones are concerned. There was hardly any snow. Certainly no ice. And yet somehow…somehow….

Eric, Brigitte and Betty were coming home from an evening out at the Red Oaks, when they crashed. The car is totaled. Eric broke his wrist, and had torn his knee apart. Brigitte has a minor head laceration that makes Emma woozy to think about. But that isn't the worst of it. Because, little Betty isn't expected to live through the night.

That evening, Emma's parents go to the hospital and Emma remains behind. That little voice in her head grows stronger and stronger as her panic increases. By the time her parents return the next evening, their faces masks of grim resolve, the entire house is spotless. Emma's hands are cracked and bleeding.

"How's Betty?" she asks around the lump in her own throat.

"Paralyzed," her father says, and then walked into the bedroom and shut the door. Her parents never visit Betty again.

"It's just too hard to see her perfect little body all broken like that," her mother weeps. "You don't understand. You weren't there."

Emma visits for the first time on Christmas Day, a week after the accident. Betty is in a full body cast. The look in her eyes haunts Emma, but she sits close by and holds her hand. Germs are, for once, the least of her concern. Hospitals are dirty, but if something goes wrong, there are always decontamination showers. That thought gives her comfort, and makes her feel ashamed all at once. Her niece is here, mutely watching her, though Betty's been talking since she was less than a year old. Now, it seems, she won't speak at all.

So, Emma sits. She tries not to look at the brand new pink tricycle, the dress up clothes or the tee ball set her brother and his wife have gotten for her. Emma's not much of a singer, but it's so quiet in the pediatric intensive care unit that Emma finds herself singing Betty's favorite songs (_Tomorrow_ from _Annie_, and _You are My Sunshine) _and some of Emma's favorites (_Here Comes the Sun_ and _Good Day Sunshine_ by the Beatles.) Yes, sunshine is a major theme. Because optimism seems so far away, and is so very much needed. She stays eight hours a day, every day of winter break, her senior year.

It's in the middle of the third week that Betty speaks for the first time Emma can recall since the accident.

"Mama?"

"Mama's not here. But Auntie Emma's here," she tries, praying that Betty won't cry. "How can I help? Are you okay?"

"Stuck," Betty says gesturing weakly to the cast.

"Yes, I see. I'm sorry you're stuck. Can I help?"

"Take it off?" Betty asks, her chin trembling.

"I'm sorry. I can't take it off," Emma says sadly.

"Why?"

"Because it has to stay on for right now."

Betty sighs and closes her eyes. It is the most defeated Emma has ever seen a toddler. That night, she goes home and pours all her nervous energy into creating something positive for Betty.

Emma arrives the next day, armed with her very first pamphlet. It reads: **SO YOU'RE FEELING STUCK**. Emma is so proud she could burst. She shows it to Betty, and her little face lights up, at the picture of her own face.

"Me," Betty whispers, smiling a little.

"That's right. You. This is a little book, all about you. Would you like to read it?"

Betty nods and opens the pamphlet to the first flap, with the picture of Betty in her cast. Emma explains that first, Betty has to wear the cast. The next flap says Betty will work very hard, and when Emma opens the pamphlet all the way, there is a perfect hand-drawn illustration of a wheelchair.

"Then, you get one of these," Emma says, trying to keep her tone light.

"For being good?" Betty asks, and it breaks Emma's heart.

"For getting around," Emma explains.

There is silence, and Betty blinks slowly, like she's tired. "Will you stay forever, Auntie Emma?"

"I'll stay as long as you want me to. I promise." Emma kisses Betty's hand, and watches, shocked, as Betty falls asleep clutching the pamphlet.

Progress is hard to measure. Rehabilitation is excruciating to watch, but Emma forces herself to be there. She does her homework, and stays all day on weekends, because Eric and Brigitte are back at work and can only visit early in the morning or at dinner time.

Betty goes home months later, but it's different. Emma's parents won't have Betty over to their house anymore, because they have stairs. Eric lets it happen. He keeps Betty at home. So, Emma visits there instead.

Holidays are stressful, because, inevitably, their family will have to all be together. Emma's cleany-bug tendencies will rear their ugly heads and the name she dislikes more than anything will be hers again. Freaky-Deeky. It's mean-spirited because it's not who Emma is, not really. But she finds, she can't fight it. She can't fight her parents' closed-mindedness and her own anxious thoughts at the same time.

But Betty is there, and Emma finds strength in looking at her niece. In carrying first her, and then her chair, up the stairs, so she can join in the rest of the family. With each subsequent year, on the anniversary of the accident, Emma makes another pamphlet for Betty, according to her concerns. (**SO, YOU'RE FEELING STUCK** was followed by **ALL THE THINGS I CAN DO** and **HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS IN KINDERGARTEN**. Followed, incredibly, by **SO, YOU WANT TO BE A DANCER.**) They chronicled her progress, from scared, stuck toddler, to confident elementary school student. They gave Betty confidence, and they gave Emma direction.

A dozen years after the accident, after Emma has started as the guidance counselor at McKinley High School, and Christmas is around the corner again. . The neatness and need for order are out of control. Her father, joking - or maybe not - threatens to tie her thumbs together with twine if she doesn't stop fidgeting. Straightening. But that only makes it worse. Emma cannot hide her imperfections, and neither can Betty. Together, they make the tail on a kite while everyone else they know is the kite itself.

"Freaky-Deeky, put your ridiculous energy to good use and help her," Emma's mother gestures vaguely to where Betty waits outside the front door, while Eric and Brigitte bring in food, and gifts, largely ignoring their fourteen year old daughter.

Emma's on her way down the stairs when she hears it. Eric's voice at her back. "Freaky-Deeky and Rollie-Pollie. They're perfect for each other, huh, Mom?" He drops his to a whisper, but Emma can still hear as Eric confides, "She's getting too big to be carried."

Pushing open the door, Emma blinks at the harsh whiteness, and focuses on Betty's face. "Why do you let them talk to you like that?" she asks. "If they talked to _me_ like that, you'd stop them, right?"

Right then, Emma knows, thank God) that Betty didn't overhear her dad's insensitive comments. And right then, Emma knows that she can't stay there. Neither can Betty.

"Come on. We're going to my house," Emma decides.

"Awesome," Betty smiles.

That night, Betty asks Emma if they can dye her hair blonde. She doesn't want to have red hair if it means being like most of their family. The winter 2009 pamphlet, a bit delayed, is entitled **CHANGE YOUR HAIR. CHANGE YOURSELF. HOW TO RISE ABOVE HARMFUL ATTITUDES AND BELIEFS BY STAYING TRUE TO YOURSELF**. Betty loves it.

By the time Emma and Will's wedding is just around the corner, Betty is seventeen. She has told Emma on several occasions that she is Betty's best friend. But the night before the wedding, as they lay awake in the dark, Betty says it again, and this time, Emma really listens.

"You know that it's because of _you_ that I am who I am, right? I'm more like you than anyone else in this family. You're easily my best friend. Easily."

"That's nice of you to say, honey, but not necessary. I know girls your age have lots of friends."

"Is everything okay?" Betty asks, as intuitive as Emma was at the same age.

"I'm not sure if this is what I should be doing," Emma confesses. It's not right to tell a teenager, but Emma hasn't got anyone else.

"So…you're feeling stuck?" Betty asks, a smile in her voice. "Well…you'll be stuck for a while…but eventually…if you put the work in…you'll get anywhere you want to go," Betty yawns, and goes quiet, her breathing deep and even.

"I know I've heard that somewhere before…" Emma manages, as Betty reaches over in sleep, and squeezes her hand.

_The End._


	26. Purple

**Summary: **Quinn and Santana immediately after Finn outs Santana in 3x06, Mash Off. Requested by bobina.

**Prompt: **Purple

The last thing Quinn expects that Friday night her mom leaves for the Jesus Booze Cruise and Puck just holds her is to see Santana's little red Acura parked in her driveway. She hadn't known it was there, actually. Wouldn't have had any idea, had Puck not called her from the front of the house, after sneaking out her window.

"Uh, you'd better come out here."

He sounds uncharacteristically hesitant.

It's this, and nothing else that sends Quinn downstairs and out the door to find the car. To find Santana sitting behind the wheel. Something seems off, but Quinn can't put her finger on what it is.

"I tapped on the window…you know…to say hey…and she kinda freaked out." He pauses. "If you need me, I can stay," he offers, casting concerned looks inside the car, where Santana is white-knuckling her own steering wheel.

"Thanks. I got it," Quinn reassures, though she isn't actually sure she has _anything_ at this point, and has no idea what's wrong with Santana.

Puck backs out of the driveway, and Quinn finds herself grateful for the oddest things. That Santana parked behind her, not Puck, so Quinn does not have to somehow, convince her to move her car.

When Puck is gone, Quinn walks to the front of the car, where she can be seen and calls Santana's name. "You wanna come inside?" she asks, like everything is normal.

In the car, Santana blinks and shakes her head a little, like she's coming out of a dream. She releases the steering wheel, and takes the keys from the ignition, but, Quinn notices, Santana holds them defensively - one protruding from between her fingers. She doesn't hit the lock button. She leaves the driver's side door ajar.

Quinn feels cold all over, and not just from the November chill. She watches Santana get out of the car stiffly, arms crossed, still in her Cheerios uniform. Quinn moves deliberately, with her hands up, to close and lock the car/

Wordlessly, Quinn leads the way inside the house. When they are in the living room, she turns, finally, and stares at Santana. There are fingerprint bruises around both upper arms. Her mouth looks swollen.

"Are you-?" Quinn starts, but that's all it takes for Santana to bolt for the bathroom. Quinn sits, shocked, listening to Santana retching. She feels completely unprepared to deal with whatever this is. But it's clear Santana has nowhere else to go.

Several minutes pass, and Santana emerges, pale and shaky. "Sorry," she says roughly.

Quinn waves off the apology and just waits. The clock ticks and she waits until Santana sits back down. She says nothing, just raises her eyebrows.

"Josh-something. Rugby captain." Santana mutters, shrugging. "So, Finn got what he wanted." She averts her eyes, ducking her head, and it's so unlike the girl she's known since the first day of freshman year that Quinn has to speak up.

"Tell me," she says, sitting forward.

"I stayed late after Cheerios practice, for official co captain debriefing crap. Coach Sue went with Jackson, and Britt had already left. I was almost off the field when they… I heard them talking. Laughing. Then, two of them had me up against the fence, and he…Josh…kissed me…"

They had done more than that. Quinn can see it in Santana's eyes, but she doesn't press. The bruises are clearly visible on Santana's arms, and, probably, other places. Quinn's chest aches and anger flares.

"Did they hurt you?" Quinn demands, her voice low and soft. She knows they hurt her physically, but she means something else. And she can see that Santana understands.

Santana shakes her head, but her eyes are dull and distant. "Just felt me up. They got in a couple hits when I tried to fight back. They said I deserved it."

"You don't. No one does," Quinn says, her voice sure, but shaking all the same.

"I didn't say no."

"Fighting back _is_ saying no," Quinn reminds her. She knows this, but now that it's happened to her, all her knowledge about this have left her head. "Walking away is saying no. Struggling is saying no. Turning your head away is saying no. Did you blame Kurt when Karofsky was bullying _him_?"

"No, but Hummel's tiny compared to Karofsky. He's no match for a guy like him…"

"Right," Quinn nods, crossing her arms so she won't do what she wants to do more than anything, and reach out for Santana's hand. Beneath the dull agony in Santana's eyes, there is fear, and Quinn doesn't want to scare her. "Bullying is all about the imbalance of power." She doesn't say, "_You couldn't have fought back, either._" Clearly, Santana knows that already.

"This is what I was afraid of…" Santana chokes out. "_This_ is why I didn't want anyone knowing… But Finn…" she says bitterly, gasping a little. Quinn can't tell if it's from pain or because she's losing it.

"Okay. Finn's not here. I am. Look at me, okay? What can I do?"

Tears are falling and that's so rare for Santana that Quinn has almost never seen them. Santana doesn't speak, just shakes her head.

"Can I sit next to you?" Quinn asks, and Santana nods quickly.

When Quinn fills the space beside her on the couch, Santana tenses, but Quinn doesn't move beyond that. She doesn't speak. And eventually, slowly, Santana leans toward her, resting her forehead on Quinn's shoulder.

Quinn swallows, blinking her own tears away. This isn't about her, but Santana's her best friend. She has to be strong, but she's losing the battle.

"This isn't your fault," Quinn tells her thickly. On her shoulder, Santana sniffs and a shudder goes through her. But she's calming down. "We'll look out for you. I promise. No one's going to do this again. Even if it means me coming back to the Cheerios to walk with you after practice so those morons can't get near you."

Santana chokes out a laugh.

"Do you need anything? Tylenol? Ice?" Quinn asks.

"Just a friend would be great," Santana manages, her voice thick, her head resting on Quinn's shoulder.

"You've got one. Always," Quinn promises, threading their fingers together.

_The End._


	27. Fold

**Summary: **There's a moment after his wife's death when Burt Hummel realizes he is going to have to be the strong one now. Fill for a prompt from the Glee Angst Meme.

**Prompt: **Fold

Life goes on. Burt wishes it weren't so cut and dried. But it is. And it does. After Liz dies - at 35 years old - he's a widower, with an eight year old kid he has no idea how to raise.

Now, don't go getting this confused. Kurt's easy to love, and that's never been a problem. But Burt has nothing in common with him. And Burt had naively assumed that Liz would be around to encourage all of Kurt's interests. The playing restaurant, the singing, the fashion and the tea parties. It didn't take a genius to figure out Kurt would need a mother for those. And now…well…now…he's on his own.

That's never more clear than in the weeks before Christmas. Burt takes Kurt to the Lima Mall to sit on Santa's lap, hoping to get a clue about what Kurt wants for Christmas, just by using the go-between of the big guy. Kurt's insisted he doesn't want anything. It's barely been a month since they lost Liz. Burt understands. He doesn't want anything either. Well, other than the woman he loved more than anything in the world.

If not for Kurt, Burt is sure he would have given up. He's not strong like Liz. Or like Kurt, who has to be strong to put up with the kind of crap the kid already puts up with, even though he's only in the third grade and it just doesn't seem right.

He misses everything about Liz, but mostly, he misses her at night. That time after Kurt went to bed when the two of them would talk about the day, anything important, and, always, Liz made sure Burt was up to date on what was happening with Kurt. Burt knew all about the spelling tests and the soccer games, and anything that was public knowledge. But Liz knew about the bullying. She knew about how to talk to him. How to get him to open up about what was bothering him. Burt didn't even know how to be honest with himself so how was he supposed to tell Kurt it was okay to feel whatever he was feeling?

There is no tree this year. No decorations either, except the ornament Kurt's hung on the lampshade in his bedroom. The sight of it breaks Burt's heart, but not as much as the sound of his son's soft crying, hours after bedtime, when, probably, he thinks Burt is asleep.

Quietly, Burt gets out of bed and eases open the door, grateful not to find Kurt lying in the middle of the living room floor, positive he'd found his mother's "echo" - that had been last week - and it was more than a little unnerving. Instead, Kurt is buried under his blankets, sniffing softly.

"Hey, buddy," he offers, uncomfortable, but knowing that Kurt's got no one else. He's got to do this. Liz would kill him if he let Kurt take on the world all by himself.

Kurt doesn't respond, he just curls in tighter on himself.

"I'm sorry you're sad," he offers and it feels so inadequate. But what else can he say? It's true, isn't it? Burt would do anything to protect his son. To take his pain. "You wanna talk?"

"I wanna take it back," Kurt rasps softly.

"Take what back?" Burt asks, lifting the blankets so he can see Kurt, just a little lump underneath.

"I want a time machine to take me back, and I wanna take everything back," he insists, his voice heavy with sadness.

"Why do you wanna take it back?" Burt asks, deciding to try a different approach. Speaking around the lump in his throat is tough, but he's gotta do this now. Liz isn't here. So Burt's gotta be the strong one now.

"Because," Kurt whispers, his voice heavy. "I didn't really _need _milk that bad, Dad…" His voice breaks, and Burt is a little stunned when Kurt curls against Burt's chest, sobs shaking his body.

Slowly - too slowly - Burt thinks back until the moment Kurt is talking about becomes clear. The night of the accident, Liz went out for a gallon of milk. Burt always remembered that. He'd just always forgotten it was Kurt who asked for it, because without milk, how was he gonna drown his cookie, drink the milk, and the cookie at the bottom?

It's been a month, and Burt hasn't had to go searching for any smelly cups with milk and cookie stuck on the inside, because Kurt hasn't had any. Not since Liz…

"It's _my fault_, Dad. Just say it's my fault. I know it's true," Kurt cries.

"It is not your fault," Burt says, keeping his voice level. He reaches over and turns on the bedside lamp so they can see each other. "Look at me," Burt says, and waits, until Kurt stares at him, the grief raw in his eyes. "Mom wouldn't want you blaming yourself like this. I know it's not what you wanna hear, but sometimes bad things just happen. The accident happened because the roads were bad, not because of anything you did."

"But she wouldn't have been _on _the road then if _I_ hadn't made such a big deal about my stupid snack! If I knew that's what would happen, I would have never said…" His voice breaks. "I would have asked her to stay."

Knowing Kurt's been blaming himself for the last month is like a punch to the gut. Burt can't get his breath. He can't think of anything to say. Tears well in his eyes and he tries to fight them, but they come anyway.

"Blame me, Dad! _Please_. I'll feel so much better if you just tell me the truth!" Kurt begs.

"The only truth you need to know," Burt manages, as tears fall down his own face, "is that you are my son and I love you. And I will never blame you, no matter how bad you want me to. The accident was not your fault, Kurt. I promise you."

"I don't believe you…" Kurt whispers, and Burt is grateful for a kid who is so honest. He folds his arms around his kid, and holds on.

"Then I'll just keep telling you, until you do."

_The End._


	28. Falcon

**Summary: **Will finds Kurt badly injured after seeing him near the dumpster, surrounded by kids Will taught the previous year in Spanish class. He hadn't thought anything of it. Kurt was just making friends, right? Set in episode 1x01, "Pilot." WARNING: Bullying.

**Prompt: **Falcon

_They descend on him like birds of prey. Like he is something small. Defenseless. Worthless. To them, he is. And Kurt wishes he could fight back. He wishes _he _were a bird, so that he could escape all of this. He's a high school sophomore. He's fifteen years old. _

_He is not ready. He's not ready for the fists and the feet, coupled with the fear and humiliation. He had tried to run. Before school and after school. That was the deal. If he ran, there would be consequences. And he tried to run. And there were. And now it's getting dark, and he's supposed to be home, but he can't move. A half-dozen football jocks armed with pee balloons and hate? Well, he is no match for them._

_This morning, he had tried to get Mr. Schuester's attention the only way he dared. He thought the terror showed clearly on his face. But no. Because Mr. Schuester knew all the kids who were bullying him. They were Mr. Schuester's Spanish I kids last year. Kurt is already in French II. Because of this, Mr. Schuester gives these kids, the benefit of the doubt. He's tossed in the dumpster, so he smells all day long. It's humiliating._

_So, this afternoon, he tries to run. He is fast, but his tormenters are faster. They catch him. Surround him. Pound him. Then, for a good measure, they soak him with balloons filled with their own urine. _

_They leave him behind the dumpster. (Out of sight, out of mind, right?) And Kurt's blood soaks the asphalt. It smells like copper, like ammonia, like autumn._

_If his bullies are falcons, Kurt thinks woozily, he wants to be a bird, too. A bird, so that he can fly away, and not have to hurt like this…and suddenly…there's a voice:_

"Kurt? Oh, my God… Okay… It's going to be okay. I'm calling an ambulance, just stay still."

"Mr. Schuester…" Kurt moans softly, before everything goes black.

* * *

"Are you Schuester?!" a voice demands. It's angry, and a quick glance at the name tag on the coveralls explains why.

"Mr. Hummel, I am so sorry," Will begins, knowing that an apology on his part means little. He is pale. He feels ill. It isn't half of what Kurt is feeling. Will hopes that when his baby arrives, someone does a better job protecting Will's child than Will has done protecting Kurt.

"Where the hell were you when my kid was being beat within an inch of his life?" Mr. Hummel demands. Will is shocked when he is pushed against a wall in the hospital waiting room. "You saw him being harassed and you did nothing. What the hell kind of educator are you?"

"I- I'm sorry," Will manages again. He can't stop himself from wondering how someone like Kurt has a father like this. Who looks like he could be a kid like Kurt's biggest bully, when, it's clear, he is actually, Kurt's greatest protector.

"Mr. Hummel?" a new voice asks, and Will is grateful. He hasn't stopped shaking since he found Kurt. He'd been walking to his car, hours after school let out, and heard something. A moan or a whimper. Will still isn't positive what sent him in the opposite direction of his car. He's glad he took the time. He doesn't want to think about what could have happened had Kurt remained there overnight.

Will blinks and realizes Kurt's father isn't there anymore. Will is staring at his retreating back. Kurt must be awake. He has to be okay. Will puts his head in his hands. Then he picks up his phone and calls Terri.

"Hey. It's me."

"Honey, you're missing puzzle night," Terri admonishes in her strange cadence.

"I'm sorry." This, it seems, is the only thing Will is capable of saying tonight. "One of the glee club kids is in the hospital. I found him beaten pretty badly in the parking lot and called him an ambulance. God, Terri, there was so much blood…"

"You didn't touch it, did you?" she asks seriously. "I don't want dirty, parking lot blood infecting our baby, Will."

"Terri, come on. That should be the least of your concern right now."

"Well, I just don't understand why you'd sacrifice a night of puzzles in the craft room with me and your unborn child for some kid at school."

"I'll be home later," Will sighs.

"With cheese fries. The baby's hungry," she insists sweetly and hangs up.

* * *

Burt sits beside Kurt's hospital bed, listening to the rhythmic beep of the monitors around him.

"_Your son was very lucky_," the ER doc on call had said. "_His injuries could have been much worse."_

"_Yeah, well, do me a favor, and don't tell my kid that. He's not feeling very lucky right now, I can guarantee you that."_

Cracked ribs, a bloody nose, a concussion and bruises everywhere Kurt has skin…not to mention that he had come in with his clothes soaked in piss that, apparently, wasn't his own. It made Burt want to find those kids and give 'em a taste of their own medicine.

"Dad…" Kurt croaks, his voice hoarse.

"Hey, kiddo. Lie still all right? Do you know who did this to you?" he asks, even though he has asked already, and Kurt has said he doesn't know.

Kurt shrugs and winces. "Six huge guys. Letter jackets. I don't usually ask their names before they throw me in the dumpster," he manages, trying for sarcasm.

"Why didn't you tell me this was going on? You don't think I would have been at that school in a second?" Burt insists, holding hand. There's dried blood under his nails. It makes Burt sick, knowing how hard Kurt must've fought, but one kid against six would never be a fair fight.

"That's exactly _why _I didn't tell you," Kurt sighs. "I'm in high school, and the only thing that would make the target on my back bigger than it is already is if my dad came to school to fight my battles."

"Those kids don't _get to _target you. And I bet you the tire shop that Schuester knows who every one of those kids are." Burt seethes.

"Mr. Schuester's here?" Kurt asks and Burt can see the fear in his eyes. The humiliation. Burt doesn't mention that they've had this conversation twice already. That he has reassured Kurt that he doesn't have to be embarrassed. That Schuester isn't coming in.

"Hey, it's all right. I think he's just worried about you," Burt says, softening, so Kurt doesn't think Burt's mad at him.

"Dad…you can't ask Mr. Schuester about those kids. Just let it go. Okay? It happens. It's normal. I deal with it."

"Yeah, well, this is the last time it's gonna happen. It's not normal and you shouldn't have to deal with it. Now close your eyes and get some sleep. I'll be here."

"My head hurts…" Kurt winces.

"You just had Tylenol. It'll kick in, okay? Just close your eyes."

"…sorry, Dad…" Kurt sighs as he drifts off.

Carefully, Burt presses his lips to Kurt's forehead. "You have nothing at all to be sorry for," he whispers.

He'll deal with this tomorrow. Right now, his son needs him.

_The End._


	29. Hourglass

**Summary: **Beth is diagnosed with Tay Sachs. Fill for a prompt from the Glee Angst Meme. Set in Season 4. WARNING: Character death.

**Prompt: **Hourglass

"Did you know?" Shelby's voice is broken. Brittle. Angry. And these three words change Quinn's life.

It had started out as such a normal day. The second week in March, with snow still on the ground, but spring, a promise, just around the corner. Quinn had been studying. Okay, Quinn had been texting. Then, the call came, and stopped her in her tracks.

"Shelby? What are you talking about?" Quinn asks, because there has been no word from her since Quinn went to New Haven. The letters and the pictures, detailing all of the milestones suddenly stopped. Quinn hadn't thought much of it. New year, new address. She'd meant to get around to mailing something for Beth - still hadn't gotten around to sending the outfit she'd picked out at Christmas. She hasn't seen Beth since before her second birthday.

"Did. You. Know," Shelby growls and blood is suddenly rushing in Quinn's ears.

"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about. Is Beth okay?" she asks, even though Quinn is terrified of the answer.

There is none. Only broken sobbing on the other end of the phone. After five minutes, she gasps out the truth. Two unfamiliar words that grasp for purchase in Quinn's mind like climbing vines without a home.

"Rachel told me you got tested. When you were pregnant. Did she lie? Are _you lying_? Is that why you put her up for adoption? Why you never see her?" Shelby demands, her anger masking her tears suddenly. Anger is easier to feel than sadness. Quinn ought to know.

"Shelby, please…please just tell me. Is she okay?" Quinn manages.

"She has Tay Sachs," Shelby says, and the bottom falls out of Quinn's world.

* * *

Her sophomore year in high school is a time Quinn tries never to think about, but the memory of Rachel approaching her, talking to her about prenatal testing for some kind of Jewish baby disease. She had taken the warning seriously. She meant to get tested, but the cost of the blood test and subsequent amniocentesis had been obscene, especially as an unemployed, uninsured student. She was covered on her parents' plan, but neither would allow her to use it on "her condition."

Now, Quinn wishes she had been more insistent. But if she had, then what? Just the online research she had done on Tay Sachs at that point had been horrifying. Reading about it was one thing, but seeing videos of kids with it? Quinn couldn't deal with it. Because what if that was her baby? Losing her coordination, her vision, her hearing, becoming slowly paralyzed?

And now? It is. It _is _her baby. And God. She doesn't know what to do. Has Shelby called Puck? Even if she has, Quinn feels like she has to talk to him. He is the only one who knows what this is like.

"Noah…" she says, when he picks up after the fourth ring. She uses 'Noah' so he'll know she is serious. As if he wouldn't pick up on that, with her crying like her heart is breaking.

"What's wrong?" he asks, and she gets right to the point. There is no point in beating around the bush. This is their daughter. This is their life.

"Beth's dying," Quinn says, willing her voice to stay steady. But in the end it breaks. It breaks just like everything else.

There's an unfamiliar noise and the call is disconnected. Puck calls back later, once he's retrieved the phone from the floor, and put it back together, and willed it to work.

"What happened?" he demands. And Quinn tells him everything she knows.

"Shelby just called me. She said Beth had been behind on almost every milestone. She hasn't learned to talk. Now, when she falls…she can't stand up. She's afraid of the stairs. She can't swallow without coughing. Shelby kept taking her to doctor after doctor but none of them were concerned. Finally, she got Beth tested for degenerative brain conditions, and the test came back… The doctor told Shelby he's…" Quinn's voice breaks but she forces herself to keep going. "…he was very sorry, but Beth has Tay Sachs and there's nothing he can do for her."

Silence.

"Tay Sachs," Puck says, his voice thick. "That's…that's the Jewish thing, right? That means I gave it to her?"

"Me, too," Quinn confirms, sharing a piece of herself that no one else knows.

"You're Christian," Puck manages, sounding numb.

"Not by blood. By blood, I'm as Jewish as you are. We both did this," Quinn confesses, and her voice breaks for good this time. For twenty minutes, they sit on the phone with each other. They can't speak. They just cry. The distance between Yale and LA has never felt greater. The distance between themselves and Beth has never felt more insurmountable.

"How… How long?" Puck manages.

"A few months to a year. Maybe two, if she's lucky." Quinn chokes.

Puck makes a sound that's almost inhuman. Raw grief sounds like this, Quinn thinks absently. Puck had wanted Beth even more than she herself had. He had tried his hardest, in his own way, to prove he'd be a good dad. And Beth had spent her first nine months growing inside of Quinn's own body.

It is crushing to know that a life, a person, a soul, that Quinn brought into the world will leave it before she is even old enough to attend kindergarten. Quinn grips the phone tightly, unwilling to lose the only real connection she has to Beth.

* * *

She spends weeks grieving. Trying to get in touch with Shelby, who is not taking her calls.

"Please," Quinn begs, on yet another message. "I need to see her while she can still see me…while she can still hear my voice…"

* * *

The week Beth turns three, an invitation turns up in Quinn's on campus mailbox. It's been three months. Beth is deteriorating. She has a feeding tube. She can't smile anymore. She can't walk. Quinn still hasn't seen her, but, she tells herself, she is about to.

She calls Puck, sure that he received an invitation to the party, too, and they each promise to show up.

Beth's birthday is on a Saturday, and she and Puck arrive with a gift a piece, even though they will never be able to give Beth what she really needs. A future.

Together, they knock on the door, and Shelby comes to open it, Beth in her arms. It's incredible how much she's grown in the last year and a half. She is bigger, and still so beautiful. The deficits are obvious, too. It brings a lump to Quinn's throat.

It turns out Quinn and Puck are the only guests. Beth is struggling to breathe. Shelby doesn't quite look them in the eye. There is no cake - Beth can't enjoy it - but she is in a pretty dress. Shelby stiffly encourages Quinn and Puck to give Beth her gifts.

They do.

Shelby opens the gift from Puck first. It's a stuffed lamb. Then, Quinn hands her own gift to Shelby. Beth is making noise in her arms, and Puck offers to hold her. Hesitantly, Shelby settles Beth into Puck's arms, urging him to be careful of her feeding tube. Then, the blanket is opened. It's soft, and cuddly. Something that, even Beth couldn't see, she could still enjoy. Shelby's gaze softens a little and she drapes it over Beth. Quinn tucks the lamb beside her cheek.

She calms down.

The visit isn't nearly long enough. They leave a few minutes later, at Shelby's urging, each saying brave goodbyes to their girl and asking Shelby to please call if anything changed.

* * *

Two months later, on a warm August day, the call comes. The one Quinn has been dreading. The one that sends her back to Lima. To Lima Memorial, to the funeral home, to see the tiny casket. The birthday blanket and stuffed animal are tucked safely inside.

And then, finally, Quinn and Puck go to the cemetery to lay flowers. To pay their respects.

Sometimes, Quinn returns there, and lays on the grass, her arms spread wide, trying in vain to hold onto the essence of her girl.

It's not enough. It will never be.

Mothers aren't supposed to outlive their children.

_The End._


	30. Writing

**Summary: **Something happens to Santana after a fight with Brittany and no one can get a hold of her. Include voicemails and texts from various characters. Bonus for Emma, Sue and Will leaving messages, too. Fill for a prompt from the Glee Angst Meme. Set after episode 2x18, "Born This Way." WARNING: Rated M for allusions to mania, depression, a bedroom scene, some language and violence.

**Prompt: **Writing

Santana can't remember when it happens exactly - when she goes from feeling totally crappy to absolutely invincible - but she's not going to fight it. So what if Brittany is pissed that Santana isn't embracing all of herself on Brittany's timetable. _Santana _was honest with Brittany, and _Brittany _blew her off. So, she's dating Karofsky. So Santana goes home with Karofsky.

* * *

_Santana, it's Brittany. I'm sorry I yelled at you. I didn't mean to. I just meant that you should be yourself because I love you so much. I wish you weren't with Karofsky. Call me when you get this, okay?_

* * *

Santana and Karofsky have absolutely hardcore stuff happening in the bedroom. Santana has endless energy and can't shut up. Karofsky keeps trying to interject, but it doesn't do any good, because Santana can't keep up with her own thoughts. It's like, she's absorbing Karofsky's entire room. His entire being. His entire environment.

* * *

_Hey, it's Sam…Sam, I am. Uh, listen, anyway… I was wondering if you still have my chapstick. I kinda need it back…and my sweatshirt. And my heart. You know, if you ever feel like giving that back._

* * *

Karofsky gets up and gets the hell away from her, and she yells at him to come back. What the hell is this if they're not going to help each other out like they promised? But he ignores her and goes to his game room where he plays a long Call of Duty tournament with people who aren't Santana.

* * *

_Sandbags, this is your commanding officer. Don't think that because you're not on the Cheerios that I do not still have cameras everywhere. What on earth are you doing with Porcelain's bully? Absolutely inexcusable. Check in with me ASAP. Or I'll be sending Special Forces._

* * *

Oh, well. Santana has better things to do. Her brain can't stop taking in everything. So, as long as Karofsky's gone, Santana locks his bedroom door, and goes on a mission. She's going to experience absolutely everything about this guy. She feels like an undercover cop or something. Totally badass. She starts with the pockets of his letter jacket and finds nothing of interest there. She tosses it aside. Then, thinks better of it and hangs it up again on the back of the desk chair. She goes through his closet, where she finds old toys and books. Under his bed, where she finds empty Mountain Dew bottles, dirty clothes, and school stuff from years past. Santana takes out all of it. She looks at every yearbook - for about three seconds - before tossing it aside. His desk drawers are next. She finds scraps of paper with internet passwords and uses them to sign into all of Karofsky's accounts. She reads the unsent messages to Hummel, and laughs out loud before she can stop herself. Karofsky, who made Hummel's life a living hell, is really in love with him? What kind of messed up crap is that?

* * *

_Santana, it's been hours. You said you'd come shopping with me, but I guess not. Thanks for blowing me off. This is Quinn, by the way, in case you forgot._

* * *

Shopping. _Shopping _is an amazing idea. She'll totally do that as soon as… Santana stops short, even though her thoughts won't stop colliding inside her brain. She's reached under Karofsky's mattress, expecting to find…what? Contraband? Porn? But what she finds is like gold. Karofsky, as well as being a closet gay, is a closet poet. Santana should totally write a book. She's always wanted to, especially after reading I'm a Winner and You're Fat cover to cover her freshman year. If that was inspirational, this poetry was like…beyond incredible. She makes quick work of putting everything back in its place, so she can really concentrate on this. She can't sit still, or calm down. So, she paces, her heart racing with giddy anticipation because they totally have more in common than Santana would have ever thought.

* * *

_Once upon a time, I painted myself_

_Literally._

_To be who I thought I wanted to be._

* * *

Santana rips out a piece of paper, and scribbles down tons of words. She can barely read them after, but it's okay. See, she's a total pro at this. She'll be a famous writer in no time. Then, her eyes drift back to Karofsky's poem, and she starts to feel devastated.

* * *

_Once upon a time, I hated myself_

_Seriously._

_Because I can never be who they want me to be._

* * *

Santana feels her insides being sucked down an invisible drain. Feels the ground beneath her own feet give way, like it's quicksand until she's looking up at the far-too-distant sky, with no hope of ever climbing out. Ever. She should have listened to Brittany. She shouldn't keep screwing everything up. She shouldn't keep _lying_ to herself. But she can't stop. Because a lie is as good as the truth, if you believe it hard enough.

* * *

_Once upon a time, I imagined myself_

_Floating._

_Away from it all. Away from me._

* * *

She shoves everything back beneath the mattress, leaving his room just as she found it. The blankets on the bed a little messy, but everything else spotless. Santana goes out his bedroom window, not even bothering to say bye, or to unlock his bedroom door. Let him figure it out himself. She is totally planning on crashing. It's after midnight but driving fast is helping her clear her head.

* * *

_Santana, it's your mother. It's past your curfew. Get home and get ready to get comfortable, because you are not leaving this house except for school. _

* * *

The sight of a store has Santana feeling great again. What had Quinn said on her message? Shopping. Right. Santana parks and gets out of the car. She barely feels the ache of her body. Barely thinks about how rough Karofsky is in bed. How she hadn't been able to stop either. Because now, there are other things to think about. There's bling and there's groceries and there's a billion other things just waiting for Santana to buy them. It's exhilarating.

* * *

_Santana, it's Puck. Dude, I heard from a kid I was in juvie with that you got busted for shoplifting. If you need someone to bail you out, don't call me, I'm flat-ass broke, but if you need any kind of weapon of self-defense, like a bo, or katana or sai or some nunchucks? Then I'm totally your guy. Use your one phone call on Puckzilla and I won't let you down. Swear._

* * *

Santana hasn't been arrested. None of the stores she wants to go to are open. So she shops at the closest Kroger until her cart is overflowing with stuff she doesn't need. Makeup. Jewelry. Food. Wine. Fresh produce. She actually pays for the stuff, because she has her dad's credit card, and what's the use in free money if she can't spend it? They don't sell her the wine, and that makes her so, so pissed. Because the customer is always right, obviously! And she wants to kick them in the mouth. But she doesn't. She stalks out and speeds home and she's pissed off again to find all the doors locked and lights off. Who cares if it's 5 AM, her parents should have left the house open. It's common courtesy. So really, they should have expected what happened next. The rock through the window, setting off the alarm. Then they were awake. Then they were all yelling. Her parents were both threatening to drug test her, and Santana was screaming. Because this house is a prison! When they come at her with the test, she takes it, and uses it, just to show them. There is, for once, no alcohol on her breath either. Her parents look at each other. Concerned. Santana keeps ranting and slams around the kitchen, getting pots and pans and plates out. She's making spaghetti. It's going to be delicious. Her parents try to intervene and suddenly she is breaking plates, shattering them against the countertops. She breaks six before her dad grabs her and she screams and fights him viciously. He has no right! Vaguely, she hears the word 'hospital' and real panic sets in. Santana hates the hospital and fights with everything she has. But she is no match for her dad, who picks her up and puts her in the car bodily. Sits in the back with her to be sure she doesn't try to jump, which, she does. Her mom drives, breaking the speed limit. They get to Lima Memorial. Santana can't stop screaming. She always goes to the yelling place. She has rage. She's admitted. And life as she knows it.

Stops.

* * *

_Hello, Santana, this is Rachel Berry. I normally wouldn't bother with this kind of thing, but it's been several days and no one has heard from you, aside from Noah's ridiculous rumor that you've been arrested, which I seriously hope is not the case. Brittany says we shouldn't be concerned, that you've disappeared like this before, but Santana, the glee club needs you. So, come back, or at least let us know you're all right._

* * *

_Hey, Santana, it's Mr. Schue. I, uh, still have your number from Alcohol Awareness Week, and I guess since I haven't heard from you, it's a good thing. But anyway, we miss you at school. Hope everything's okay._

* * *

_Satan, this is Kurt. Karofsky hasn't heard a peep from you in a week, and you and he were supposed to protect me from the evils of McKinley. I'm fine, in all seriousness, but are you? Where are you? Please call us. Any of us. Anytime. We're here._

* * *

_Santana, this is Emma Pillsbury calling. Your parents came in to meet with me today and said it was okay that I called you. I know this is a very scary time for you, but I want you to know that I'm here if you ever need to talk. Mental illness is a difficult thing to come to terms with at any age, but especially when you're young. I'm going to leave you my office number here at school and you can call me anytime. You're not alone, Santana. Not for one minute. My number is…_

* * *

**[Voicemail is full]**

_The End._


	31. Hooked

**Summary: **Mercedes isn't over Kurt. She may never be. Set in Season 4. Fill for a request in the Glee Angst Meme.

**Prompt: **Hooked

Moving 2,800 miles away is supposed to help. But it doesn't. Not really. Because, no matter where she goes or what she sees, Mercedes finds, she's always thinking about telling Kurt.

Mercedes isn't stupid. Let's take care of that misconception right off. She knows Kurt's gay. Had known, probably, before he admitted it to himself. So, nothing about what they had was ever romantic. Even though Mercedes had let herself believe Quinn in their sophomore year. Let herself get mad enough to break a window in Kurt's car over it - which she later apologized and paid for. The thing is, it's not the what-might-have-been romance that Mercedes misses.

It's just Kurt.

It's their friendship. It's those nights his dad used to drop him off to play at her house after Kurt's mom died, so he wouldn't be alone at home while his dad worked. It was every silly song they wrote. Every secret they shared. Every time he had dinner at her house and every time she was invited over there. It was their closeness.

Slowly, it just kind of disappeared. When Quinn moved in, that changed things. And then, Rachel became a part of their sleepovers, which, Mercedes told herself was totally fine. All of them had known each other since grade school. She knew Kurt and Rachel had been outcasts as kids, but so had Mercedes. But she had Kurt to lean on, and she thought he had her.

She knows it's not really classy, but she can't stop the jealousy that comes when she thinks about Kurt and Rachel in that New York apartment. True, New York isn't Mercedes' dream, not even close. But if you can't share your dreams with your friends than what's the point, really?

Listen, it's not as if Mercedes is some kind of LA hermit out here. She's fine, and it's been fun heading back to McKinley every so often - to help with the play - or over Thanksgiving. But Kurt had only come home once. And then he was totally preoccupied with Blaine. Which made sense, but seriously? Does having a significant other, or an ex, for that matter, negate all the friendships you had up to that point? Because it shouldn't.

Mercedes is fine. She's got recording, and classes at UCLA to keep her busy. But none of her friends from high school are in touch. Well, except for Mike, which is kinda random. Other than him, though, there's no one.

For sure, not Kurt.

She reads his tweets and his status updates, but it's not the same as him taking the time to call her, or answer one of her calls to him.

He's just too busy.

Or, maybe, he's just too busy for _her_.

She knows she should move on, but friendships are really the hardest to let go of. Especially ones Mercedes once thought would last until they were old and gray. She used to see it in her mind all the time. Her all wrinkly with white hair and Kurt looking elderly but still fabulous. Both alone again after their significant others passed away.

But never really alone, because they always knew that whatever happened, with their life or their spouses or whoever, that they could always count on the other.

Maybe it's childish…but Mercedes really _had_ believed it.

_The End._


	32. Technology

**Summary: **Rachel, Kurt and Santana - roommates in NYC. Allusions to 4x15, "Girls (and Boys) on Film. Requested by: bobina

**Prompt: **Technology

When the power goes out for the last time, that's when Santana gets to work. She can hear Kurt and Rachel complaining. Rachel's lonely for Plastic Man, and Kurt can't shut up about how he doesn't know what people did before the invention of electricity. Santana does her best to ignore them, and works her way, systematically through the apartment gathering the cushions off the couch, and every pillow and blanket she can find.

"Santana, what-?" Rachel exclaims as Santana breezes in and takes the comforter and all the pillows off her bed.

"Seriously, this needs to stop," Kurt insists softly, his annoyance reflected in the candlelight. "What do we have to do so you'll stop going through our possessions?"

"Just eat your disgusting grapefruit and watch me work my magic, Hummel," she snaps.

Dr. Who is sleeping in Kurt's room, so those blankets and pillows are out, but that doesn't put Santana off in the least. She still has enough, because between the three of them - she's not touching Plastic Man's stuff - there are plenty of supplies to do what she's planning.

First, Santana assembles the couch cushions, with the smaller ones on the perimeter. Then, she layers all fifty billion blankets, leaving the softest for the top layer. She uses chip clips and masking tape to secure some of the lighter blankets overhead. Then, she takes her flashlight inside, and waits.

"Well?" she asks, feeling Kurt's stare, even if she can't see it. "You coming in, or what?"

Slowly, Santana makes out his silhouette crossing the room. He crouches in front of the opening, just as Rachel comes out behind them, carrying her own lavender-scented candle, and looking pissed off.

"Santana, in case you haven't noticed, there's no heat in here, and now, thanks to your _stealing _my blanket and pillows, I can't sleep. Even though I'm bored enough to," she pouts. "And all I want to do is watch _Gossip Girl_ but I can't even do that, since there's no power…"

Kurt is still hovering at the edge of Santana's creation, peering inside. It unnerves Santana so much that she sits forward and blows out his candle. The last thing she needs is her fort catching fire. She blinds him with the steady beam of her flashlight.

Finally, tentatively, he crawls in, getting comfortable beside Santana. "Like what you've done with the place," he comments dryly, and she cracks up.

"Hello?" Rachel hisses, waves of lavender and irritation wafting in. "Doesn't anyone _care_ that I'm going to freeze tonight? Plus, I can hardly fully engage in my nighttime ritual without proper lighting."

"If you wanna freeze to death that's your choice," Santana shrugs, pulling the container of mint chocolate chip ice cream toward her and offering Kurt a spoon. She nudged a third in Rachel's direction, leaving it at the doorway of their blanket cave. Hoping to entice her.

It doesn't take long for Rachel's mood to fall away, and she crawls in to join them, after blowing out her candle. Santana has to head off some ridiculous duet from RENT before it gets out of control, but at least, finally, they're all together.

"How did you learn to make these?" Rachel asks, in awe.

"I didn't _learn _to make them, I just did it," Santana shrugs.

"Excellent craftsmanship," Kurt nods in approval.

They huddle around the flashlight beam and take turns digging into the ice cream.

"What do you guys usually do when the power goes out?" Kurt asks. "I mean, assuming you don't die a slow death of boredom and solitude…"

"My dads and I light a fire in the fireplace and sing rousing trios around the piano," Rachel enthuses.

"Of course," Kurt says, trying to keep his negativity in place, and failing. A smile pulls at his lips and finally he gives into it. "What about you?" he asks, nudging Santana.

"Make forts," she says around a mouthful of ice cream. "Actually, I think I _did _pick up this particular skill from my mom…" Santana bit her lip, thinking back. "I was in kindergarten and we'd lost power in a huge rainstorm. I was pretty freaked out, but my mom calmed me down by teaching me to make these things."

"My dad used to do art projects with me," Kurt mused, his voice distant. "I remember once when I was nine, he spent hours at the kitchen table with me, in the dark, helping me make a puppet out of cardboard tubes, markers, paper and glue."

"When I was thirteen," Rachel confesses, "my dads and I tried to see how much of _Les Miserables _we could recite by memory. It was the best time."

"Well, we've got Santana's childhood memory here…" Kurt muses, raising his eyebrows at the girls. "Anyone want to help me find art supplies?"

And, with that, the three of them crept out, their bare feet freezing on the cold floors. Santana smirked as Rachel and Kurt started singing. Soon, though, she couldn't help but sing along, too, even though it was ridiculous.

"Look down!" they whisper, so they don't wake Adam, tip-toeing through the darkness. They trip over things and crack up.

It's this moment and no other that makes Santana absolutely positive she is going to love living in New York.

_The End._


	33. Dreams

**Summary: **A few years after graduation, Brittany experiences a devastating knee injury. Santana helps her through the bitterness and depression of thinking she might never dance again. Fill for a prompt from the Glee Angst Meme.

**Prompt: **Dreams

One minute, Brittany was in the air. One moment, it was awesome. That feeling of taking flight that she could never fully achieve through dance. One moment of freedom. One moment of feeling like she could accomplish anything in the world.

Later she would ask herself: _was it worth it?_

Was it worth it to get that good feeling that lasted half-a-second if it meant she might lose her entire future doing motocross when that wasn't even what she loved at all? Was it worth it to get carried off the track? Was it worth it to leave the arena in a wheelchair?

She watched the doctor stitch it. Brittany wasn't squeamish. The injury didn't even rip her pants so she didn't hit her knee on anything. Still, the whole thing happened so fast. Now, she couldn't bear any weight on that stupid knee. Now, it was swollen and nasty and the only thing she could do was ice it, keep it elevated, and wait for the day of her surgery.

Because her entire knee had been torn apart.

So, Brittany spent days getting people to cover her dance classes. On those she couldn't find anyone to take her place, Brittany went, and taught from a folding chair, her leg propped up on another chair with a bag of ice on it.

It wasn't the same. But teaching from a chair was better than not teaching at all.

* * *

Weeks later, Brittany woke up super early. In New York, it was loud all the time, and she didn't even need Lord Tubbington to walk on her to wake her up. Her surgery was totally happening today. In a way, Brittany was excited, and in a way, she was terrified. She'd never had surgery before. Plus, her parents and everyone who mattered were still in Lima. Santana was here, somewhere. But New York was a big city. Plus, they hadn't really talked much lately, so it would be weird to call her out of the blue.

But, Brittany realized, almost as she was ready to walk out the door, she _needed _to take somebody with her. Her surgery was outpatient. Somebody needed to take her home. She called six coworkers from the studio. All of them were sick of hearing from her, and her asking them to do things for her.

She had no one else. She hoped Santana meant what she said in high school when she said they'd always be there for each other.

Hesitantly, Brittany dialed the last number she has for Santana and waited.

"Brittany? Is everything okay?" Santana wondered.

"Not really," she admitted. "I hate to do this, but I…I kinda need a favor…"

"Where are you?" Santana asked.

"My apartment. I need a ride to the hospital, though. No, actually, I can get there. I just need a ride back. Is that okay?"

"I'll be right there. Can you hang tight forty-five minutes, or no?" Santana wondered, her voice a little panicked.

"It's fine. Listen, I'm just having outpatient knee surgery. I need someone to drive me home. If you can show up at the hospital in…I don't know…a couple hours? I have to be there early, but I don't think the surgery will take long… Anyway, that would be awesome."

"Britt, what happened?" Santana asked.

"Stupid motocross."

"I didn't know you were still riding," Santana ventured.

"Well, I'm not anymore," Brittany pouted.

"All right, well, I'll be there. Which hospital?"

* * *

The pain in her leg the morning after surgery was like nothing Brittany had ever felt. She had always considered herself tough as a dancer, but she hadn't expected recovery to make her feel this awful.

The only thing that made it bearable was the hazy memory Brittany had of Santana insisting on staying while Brittany got better. All Brittany's roommates were traveling. Rachel and Kurt were doing whatever college seniors did. Brittany wouldn't know what that was since she never went to college. She just worked. Anyway, Santana was there, which was a good thing, when Brittany woke up and wanted to scream. A low moan escaped instead, and a lump beside her on the couch stirred.

"Britt?" Santana muttered sleepily.

"God, it hurts…" Brittany whimpered, feeling like such a baby.

"Okay. It's okay. Let me get you some Tylenol and more ice."

When Santana was gone, the pain was even worse because then, Brittany didn't have a distraction. Tears rolled down her cheeks as pain ripped through her knee.

"Just kill me, Santana…" Brittany begged. "It hurts so bad."

"You're gonna be fine," Santana insisted, handing her Tylenol and a glass of water first. Then the ice pack, so Brittany could set it on her own leg. "Just breathe, all right?" Santana encouraged, sitting down carefully next to her and taking her hand. "Here. Squeeze."

Then, it would have been perfect, because Santana started singing. And Santana's voice always made everything better. Except that Brittany's knee was still killing her. But Santana singing helped a little bit.

* * *

Time passed. Dragged, was more like it. It was so slow with nothing to do. Especially when Santana had to go back to her apartment. That left Brittany and her crutches and _Pretty Little Liars _to fill her days, which, wasn't nearly as relaxing as Brittany thought it would be. Yeah, she needed a break, but not a six-month break.

She was only a week into this thing. How was she ever going to make it?

* * *

Weeks turned into months. Months that really sucked. Brittany spent her days doing therapy for her knee, and when she wasn't doing that, she was trying to figure out how to pay her part of the rent without accepting money from her parents like a loser. Her roommates said they'd cover it between them the first month, but after that, they expected her to take care of it. The second month she'd accepted money from her parents. Three months in, and Brittany was determined pay rent herself. So, she dipped into her savings and wrote the check. The check that never seemed as huge as when she had no money coming in.

When she wasn't working in rehab, Brittany resumed life as a couch potato. Her doctor said her progress was impressive, but Brittany wasn't seeing it. It had been three months and she still couldn't dance.

She was never getting back on that damn bike.

* * *

"Britt?" a familiar voice called a couple weeks later.

Despite Brittany's promise to never again get back on a bike, she had to keep riding the stationary bike for endurance. It was mindless and helped her feel like she was doing something, even though she never really went anywhere.

"Yeah?" she called, her tone flat and bored. She reached for the remote and muted the TV where some pointless drama was happening.

"Hey…what are you doing in here?" Santana asked, eyeing the gross state of Britt's room. The bed was unmade. Dishes and clothes were all over the place.

"What's it look like?" Brittany asked, irritated.

"It _looks like _you're riding your bike in the middle of a freaking pigsty. How long have you been on that thing anyway?"

Brittany shrugged.

"Well, get off. The Olsen twins are officially back in Lima, which means, my apartment's free."

"So, what?" Brittany asked, her eyes fixed on the screen.

"So…do you wanna come over and hang out? Or have a pity-party by yourself?"

Brittany focused on Santana's face. "Get out."

"What's going on with you?" Santana asked, and that concern Brittany could hear was enough to break her. Usually.

"Get out!" she repeated.

Santana left and Brittany watched the rest of the show, and some of the next before she hopped out to the living room, shocked to find Santana on the couch, psych textbook open in her lap.

"What are you still doing here?" Brittany asked, trying to sound pissed off but not succeeding.

"What's it look like? I'm studying," Santana snapped.

"Listen. I'm sorry," Brittany managed, her voice suddenly thick. "It's not your fault that I hate everything right now."

Slowly, Santana capped the highlighter she was using. She didn't look up, but Brittany could tell she was listening.

"I just hate this whole situation! I'm not a motocross rider, I'm a dancer! I don't know what I was even thinking just riding for fun! I _knew_ it was dangerous and I did it anyway…and now…now I might never dance again…"

"Brittany…"

"-and I don't know if I can live like that," Brittany admitted, her voice breaking.

Slowly, Santana set her book aside and took Brittany in her arms. It felt good and right and like high school except not because now life was so much more complicated. And Brittany and Santana weren't even together. But they _were_ still there for each other. For a long time, Santana just held Brittany, and let her be as upset as she needed to be.

When she didn't have anymore tears to cry, Santana still held onto her. "Listen. I know this sucks for you, okay? I know it's not something you can just get over. It's a big injury and it's really hard on you not dancing like this. But have the doctors given you any reason to believe that you won't recover?"

"They said I'm right on track," Brittany admitted. "But it's just killing me not to move around. Dancing is how I deal with, like, _everything_. Without that, I don't know what to do. It's like I don't even know who I am."

"So, basically, you're just being impatient?" Santana said, a gentle smile on her face to let Brittany know she was kidding. Mostly.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Okay so… Here's what we do. The second you start doing dance stuff, call me," Santana said, wiping Brittany's tears gently.

"You wanna watch me be pathetic?" Brittany asked skeptically.

"No…I want _learn with you_."

"Since when did you want to dance?" Brittany asked, a small smile growing on her face.

"Since, obviously, it means so much to you. And maybe you're right…you know…maybe it's good to have an outlet… I haven't lost my temper and yelled angry Spanish in, like, three months. I'd like to keep that up. And then, when you're better, maybe, you could teach me," Santana shrugged. "So…deal?"

"Deal," Brittany managed, smiling.

_The End._


	34. View

**Summary: **"What are the "big plans" for New York that Quinn refers to in 2x21, "Funeral"…because I think we all know she wasn't talking about a haircut." - bobina

**Prompt: **View

You can look at it two ways:

One. Quinn never really had a plan for New York at all - she only wanted Finn to _believe _she did. She wanted him to miss her. To be sorry he dumped her. To be sorry for everything…but for making her feel something, most of all…

Or two. Quinn had a plan from the moment her life started to unravel. A plan to lash out and destroy the New Directions' chances at winning because if Quinn has to hurt, then damn it, so should everyone.

It's immature. But it is what it is. Because the truth is, Quinn can't be at one of these competitions without having a visceral kind of reaction. Of preparing to have to give up everything she's ever loved. Sure, her mom came back. But her dad never did. She knew she was never going to keep Beth. But that decision had been made before Quinn had seen her. Had held her. Had looked her in the eyes, and felt, in the deepest part of herself, that she already knew her daughter. That she could not let her go…but that she had to.

So, the plan is easy enough, really. She is subtle and not-so-subtle in her execution. Encouraging skipping out on songwriting sessions, insisting that New York would magically write all their songs for them. Being brutal in the pillow fight. Spending insane amounts of time in the bathroom, just to piss off Santana.

Okay, so that part wasn't meant just to piss off Santana… It's because Quinn needs _somewhere_ to just stop and breathe. To remember. Because memories are everywhere. Despite the fact that she didn't go into labor at Nationals, it hardly matters. The hours of intense pain, the letting go, and those awful days over the summer when her body kept changing, preparing for the baby that Quinn no longer had.

She grieved Beth. But Quinn grieved for her privately. So, the bathroom…

And when she tells Santana "I just want somebody to love me," it's as close to the truth as Quinn has been able to come in a year.

It's been a year. And the hole in Quinn's heart - the one that's shaped like Beth - aches worse than ever…which is so weird because Beth isn't gone. She's alive. She's just not with _Quinn._

Quinn is totally alone, when she'd gotten used to the hands and the feet pressing and kicking her from the inside. She hadn't _liked it_ at the time, but she missed it so much now. She had someone there…someone with her…all the time.

And now? Quinn just feels so lonely.

So she does what she can offstage to throw the competition once they're in front of the judges.

Because, really, what else does she have to lose?

_The End._


	35. Grace

**Summary: **Mike has an eating disorder and faints in the middle of practice. Special emphasis on the Mike/Rachel, Mike/Quinn and Mike/Matt friendship. Set in Season 1. Fill for a prompt in the Glee Angst Meme.

**Prompt: **Grace

There is no grace when Mike collapses.

He falls all the way from the back row, forward, to the floor, apparently knocking people over along the way. If he had been remotely aware, Mike would have been mortified. But as it is, the only thing he remembers is getting really lightheaded and nauseous. Then, everything went black.

When he comes to, Mike hears too many voices to make sense of. Mr. Schuester insists he go to the nurse. He shakes his head, pushing himself up and getting dizzy again.

"Easy," a voice at his side says. Matt.

But he can't. Nothing is easy. He hardly has the energy to dance anymore. Not that it matters. He's had to choose between glee and football. He's had to keep his grades at As. He's had to be a good son, a good friend, and he hasn't got anything left for himself. So, he can't admit that if, given the choice again, he would pick neither.

Because he would pick dance. Not that he has that choice.

Still, Mike takes a shaky breath and stands.

Matt walks him to the nurse. He doesn't say anything, which is fine because Mike doesn't want to hear anything. He's exhausted. He can't do this anymore.

But he can't stop either.

The next day, Rachel corners Mike the second he walks into school. "Are you okay?" she asks.

"Fine. Why?" he asks. He tries to be polite, but there's a hole in his gut and the cafeteria smells like eggs. And he _hates_ eggs. But he would eat one right now if his brain would let him.

"Because you fainted and took out the whole first row," Rachel points out softly. "Why? Were your knees locked? You know, it's best to stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent."

"Is it?" Mike asks, though he doesn't care. His knees weren't locked.

"Yes. And, just a helpful hint, if you start to feel lightheaded, Mr. Schuester won't mind if you sit down preemptively. Neither will I."

"Good to know."

It's Quinn, though, who knows exactly what Mike is doing. She's a Cheerio; he's a football player. They have similarly unhealthy ways of dropping weight. He needs muscle for football, but also, he needs to stay lean so he can dance. Mostly, though, Mike needs something that he's in control of. School? His lack of a social life? Those are his parents' domains. Football? That's Coach Tanaka. Glee? That's Mr. Schuester. He knows that Quinn gets what it's like to be a product of the people you're around, rather than a person in your own right.

So, when she corners him before glee practice and drags him into a practice room, eyeing the bruise on his cheek disapprovingly, Mike lets her. When she says, "You need to stop this," he gets defensive. It's not really like him - but then - not much _is _like him these days.

"You're one to talk," he says irritably. "You've been on Coach Sylvester's Master Cleanse on and off since we were freshman."

"So? I'm not now. Thanks to this baby, I'm going to grow as big as a house," Quinn says, staring Mike right in the eyes.

"Just because you're gaining again doesn't mean we all have to," he insists, even though - more than anything - Mike wishes he could.

"You need help," she says plainly, as if it's that easy.

"And you need to stay out of my business," he retorts quietly.

"Listen, you either talk to Miss Pillsbury now, or I tell your parents," Quinn says evenly.

Mike would have fought her, but he has zero energy left for that. At least he knows Miss Pillsbury. Maybe she can help. He turns and heads out the door, toward her office, surprised to see Quinn fall into step beside him. Her hands unconsciously go to her stomach and Mike thinks of the baby she'll have by the time school's out. Then, he blinks and he's outside the door to Miss Pillsbury's office.

"Mike? What can I do for you?" she asks, and she sounds so nice…so understanding…that Mike almost loses it. He is so tired of fighting with himself.

He doesn't look, but he can sense Quinn still waiting by his side. He tilts his head toward her and asks, "Would you come in with me?"

"Yeah, of course," she responds and walks in, her head up, ready to take on the world.

They each take a chair on the opposite side of Miss Pillsbury's extremely clean desk and he waits. He doesn't know what to say.

But Miss Pillsbury waits, too, and that helps.

Mike squeezes Quinn's hand, and, to his surprise, she speaks first.

"Miss Pillsbury, I…I need to change my relationship to food. It's really unhealthy right now and I don't want to hurt my baby. Can you help me?" she asks. It's the bravest thing Mike has ever seen.

"Of course, Quinn," she says, and there's another pause.

He wants to say so much. How out of control he feels. How nothing he does feels like enough. How his entire life is being decided for him and he's just going along for the ride, but he can't say any of those things. What comes instead is simple, but honest.

"Will you help me, too?" he manages, staring at his lap.

"It's going to take work, but together, I think we can do it. What do you think?" Miss Pillsbury asks.

Mike just nods, grateful that Quinn hasn't let go of his hand.

It's just a start, he knows, but all healing starts somewhere.

_The End._


	36. Power

**Summary: **Why Quinn looks like she might cry in 3x9, "Extraordinary Merry Christmas," when Sue confronts the glee club for going back on their word to help the homeless.

**Prompt: **Power

Quinn has come to realize that regret is one of the worst feelings in the world. Watching Coach Sue walk out of glee club practice after discovering that they weren't going to help after all? It made her feel small. Weak. Terrible.

Once upon a time, it would not have made a difference to Quinn, who had grown up with everything a girl could want, in terms of possessions. After all, as a child, Quinn's problem had to do with overindulgence as much as a slow metabolism. Food was never a luxury. It was a given. She and her family tended to turn their heads when it came to poverty, hunger and homelessness. It was disgusting. But it was true. The Fabrays were nothing if not adept at ignoring anything that did not directly impact them.

Until Sam.

When Sam's family - who had been well-off - was suddenly not only jobless but homeless, too, Quinn could not ignore it. She had done what she could, helping Sam take care of Stevie and Stacey while their parents looked for work, and Sam delivered pizzas.

It had been eye-opening. Not only doing her own small part to help Sam's family, but watching him, and all of them, participate in church events for families who were homeless. ("_At least we have a roof over our heads_," Sam had said, serving others, when he completely deserved to be on the receiving end of all the serving.)

Seven months later, this was a test. Has she changed so very much from that selfish, self-centered girl?

No. Not really. She's changing, but not fast enough. Because she can't speak up in this moment, even having seen hunger, and poverty close up.

Regret is an awful feeling, but it doesn't stop Quinn from choosing to save herself from potential rejection every single time.

She needs to stop clinging to things that can never be, and realize the power she _does _have. It's not like Sam said at all. It's not really about staying a child. It's about growing up. She can't be a mom to Beth and she needs to accept that.

She tries…oh, she tries. It is like a bitter pill she can't quite swallow, but forces herself to anyway. Because it's what's best.

It's also why Quinn shows up at the homeless shelter. Even though Sam is the only other one to come, Quinn doesn't regret a thing. Because like Sam's family, no one is safe from poverty. Had Quinn kept Beth, this might have been them in a few years. Struggling to survive on minimum wage - maybe as a single parent - maybe not.

It's taking Quinn longer than she would have liked, but slowly, she is learning. If she can do even one small thing to make the world around her better, it's one small step in becoming the person Quinn wants to be.

"Thanks for showing up," Coach says, at the end of the night. And Quinn nods, taking tablecloths from tables, and throwing trash away.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," she says.


	37. Experience

**Summary: **When the Troubletones are thinking about joining New Directions again, Sugar is hesitant since everyone there has told her she's terrible. Blaine talks to her. Allusions to 3x8 "Hold Onto Sixteen." Requested by BabyYourNotAlone.

**Prompt: **Experience

Contrary to what she tells people, Sugar knows that money can't buy everything. It definitely can't buy her the one thing she really wants, and that's acceptance.

It wasn't easy being the only person who ever auditioned for New Directions and got denied a place there. It's not like people made fun of her, or anything. They liked to stay on her good side in case her dad let her throw a party.

But Sugar knew.

She knew that there was one club in school that accepted you no matter what. And yeah, she'd come on strong that day, but so would you if you were covered in spaghetti after a food fight. Plus, her dad always said "fake it 'til you make it." So, that's what Sugar did. Pretended she had unending confidence when, really, she knew she sucked. She never thought they wouldn't let her in.

Sugar had gone home, totally crushed. When her dad asked what was wrong and she explained, he had a way to make everything better. Miss Corcoran and The Troubletones. Just like Sugar thought, it had been great to feel like she was a part of something. Even if she was told specifically to stand in the back, sway, and sing "very, very quietly" by Santana, it was still better to be there.

She never bothers to tell them that she _can sing_. That she spent months the year she turned seven - after her mom left and her dad legally changed Sugar's name to Sugar - singing Stacie Orrico's More to Life. Better to sing badly now than to get all emotional - which was always what happened whenever Sugar sang well.

Then, they lost. And Quinn Fabray approached Mercedes, Santana and Brittany in the girls' bathroom. So basically, everyone but her. Quinn asked them all to rejoin while Sugar lingers using her amazing talent for eavesdropping. She feels everything inside her sink when Quinn leaves and she hears the other three girls talk about going back and no one mentions her.

They leave, and no one mentions her.

It feels like she's seven all over again. But she doesn't sing this time.

She turns up for the big number celebrating New Directions' win at Sectionals. She stays in the back, and sings softly. Artie seems happy she's back. Artie and no one else. She hasn't even been officially invited, but Sugar couldn't just walk away from this. They're a family, obviously, and there aren't words for how much she wants that. Like, seriously. The song is awesome, but it's the group hug at the end that really seals it for her. Seals it, and breaks her heart at the same time.

Because she can't come back if all they're gonna do is tell her how terrible she is all the time. If there's one thing she can't handle it's being called a loser. She's on her way out the auditorium doors when a voice stops her.

"Excuse me?"

She turns and sees a guy with so much gel in his hair he looks like a Ken doll. Swallows the lump in her throat.

"I don't believe we've met," he says, like a storybook prince and extends a hand. "I'm Blaine."

Sugar blinks and only then does she realize he's right. They haven't met. He wasn't one of the people on that stage that she made a fool in front of herself in front of. "Sugar Motta," she manages, because she can only imagine how her name has gotten around glee, and how it's not in a good way. (_The girl who can't sing_. _Richie Bitch._ Among other things.)

"Well, Sugar, aren't you going to stay? glee club's meeting."

"I'm not in glee club," she says shrugging. "No biggie. The guy in charge told me I can't sing and didn't let me join, so, whatever…"

"But you're back now. And no one's kicking you out," Blaine said, his expression open.

"You don't understand. I really suck. Everyone says so," Sugar says, looking him in the eyes. "And I'd really rather not get humiliated twice about this."

"Anyone can learn to sing…and everyone should be allowed to join a club if they want to," Blaine offers. "Listen, I was the last new guy to join. And they're… Let's just say our experiences aren't so different. The New Directions' unofficial leader has been all over me since I got there. Everything I say is wrong. Like I have no idea how to make suggestions, even though I transferred from a school with pretty amazing glee club myself. They're just protective and they're closing ranks. But everyone in here has a voice and I want you with us."

"All I've ever wanted was to be a part of a winning team," she admits.

"Then join us. I'll talk to Mr. Schuester and I'll make sure they're nice to you," he promises.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asks as he links her arm through his.

"Because…us new kids have to stick together." he says, offering her a smile.

_The End._


	38. Pretty

**Summary: **Nobody thinks Puck can be a good dad to Quinn's baby. What no one knows is that Puck's mom is gone, and he's been raising his little sister, Sarah, on his own. He's been struggling to pay the bills so that no one finds out, and takes Sarah away. Set in Season 1. Fill for a prompt in the Glee Angst Meme.

**Prompt: **Pretty

There's no notice. There never is. One day, he wakes up, and their mom is just gone.

It's no big deal. He's used to it. In fact, he kind of prefers his mom being gone to her being here. It's a lot less stressful. And hey, at least now, he's got some money to help them out.

The first time she'd left them on their own, Puck had been eleven; Sarah, just over a year. Their dad had left the year before, so he was used to people ditching him. But he'd been used to having an adult around. Without one, things had been seriously scary. But he had managed. He learned to use the stove. Made Poptarts for breakfast, spaghetti-O's for lunch and macaroni and cheese for dinner. He took care of his sister. Kept her pretty clean. Played with her. Didn't answer the phone or the door. For days. It was summer that time, so no one missed him at school.

Now, he knows better. He's got some in savings, just in case. And he can make a nice chunk of change cleaning pools, though 500 bucks a month doesn't buy spit when you factor in phone, electric, cable and groceries, not to mention heat, water and the car.

Just their luck, that their mom ditched them in the middle of winter. You can't clean pools in the winter in Lima. He'll have to get a job. He'll have to make due. He'll have to downsize.

So he calls to cancel their cable. As much as it pains him, he gets rid of all the extra channels. They're left with about three, but that's fine. Sarah won't care. She's a cool kid and she finds other things to do outside of TV.

He gets a job at an icehouse at the local park, where he sits on his ass for a few hours at a time. Where no one comes because it's too cold. It doesn't pay much, but it's something. And right now, they need everything they can get. Now that Sarah's in school, it helps some. It means he doesn't have to worry about her between 9:00 and 3:00. It means she's taken care of. That she gets to feel normal.

He works it out with a neighbor to keep Sarah until 5:00 so he can put in some time at the icehouse. Then, it's home to pick up Sarah. To make dinner. (Ramen noodles are Sarah's favorite, and it's a damn good thing, because they're cheap and they can't afford much.) He makes sure she does her homework. Forges their mom's signature on Sarah's important school papers.

But he stops short one morning when it was starting all over again. Another day trying to survive. They're pushing two weeks on their own, and Puck can't let on about their situation. He can't let Sarah get taken away. She's all he's got.

"Noah?" Sarah calls from behind the closed bathroom door.

"What's up? Listen, you gotta hurry so I can take you to school."

The door opens a crack, and she stands there, in her clothes that he had to learn to wash that time he was eleven and Sarah got baby anxiety or something that meant the most disgusting diaper (and clothes, and washcloths because they were out of wipes) that he had ever smelled. She's clean, at least, this time. But she looks kinda bummed.

"Noah? Am I pretty?"

He blinks. How the hell is he supposed to answer that? He's her brother, not some dude.

"Why?" he asks. Not a good question, but he can't think of anything else to say.

"'Cause all the kids at school say I'm ugly…maybe if I was prettier, Mommy wouldn't have left…" she hesitates, staring at her bare feet.

"Mommy left 'cause she's got her own problems, not because of you. Understand?" he asks. A little harshly because it pisses him off - the idea of kids at school making his little sister feel like crap about herself.

"But Daddy left because of me."

Well, damn.

He nudges the door open and sits on the floor in the hallway, nodding for her to come closer. When she does, he pulls her into his lap. "You and me? We look the way we look because of our heritage. Because we're Jewish. Being Jewish is awesome. Our hair, our eyes, our faces? All that stuff… It's a symbol of the survival of our people. Always be proud of how you look."

"Like the ones in the movie we watch at Simchas Torah when we have Chinese food?" Sarah asks.

"Yep, just like that." Puck nods.

"Can you tell me in first grade words?" Sarah asks.

"Yes, you're pretty," he tells her dropping a kiss onto the crown of her head.

"I wish it was just us all the time," she sighs, leaning back against him.

"How come?" Puck asks, his heart sinking.

"Because you take good care of me, and you treat me nice," she says matter-of-factly.

He clears his throat roughly, giving her a little push so she stands up. He grabs both their jackets and makes sure she has her backpack.

There are dishes in the sink. The house is a mess. But Sarah - who's most important - is taken care of. He takes one last look at the house, and finds himself thinking of Quinn, and the baby. Realizing _this _is why it sucks so bad that she's spreading around how Finn's the father, and that Puck's just a Lima loser.

When the truth is, Puck's had more practice at being a dad than anyone guesses.

_The End._


	39. Ladies

**Summary: **Quinn, social status stuff - requested by ProfessorSpork. Allusions to episode 1x08, "Mash-Up." Riff #1 on the BF Prompt "Be Prepared."

**Prompt: **Ladies

After Quinn turns her Cheerios uniform in, she cries.

Not in front of Coach Sylvester. Never, then. But later. Alone in her car, after checking for any trace of Terri Schuester lurking there. The loss is palpable, and she resents the baby growing inside her so much right now. Because she's losing more than just an outfit. She's losing her team, her friends, and her automatic invitation to every major social event thrown by a jock or cheerleader at McKinley High.

Without her uniform, Quinn loses her place with Santana and Brittany. They've been attached at the hip since last year. They'll see each other in glee club, sure. But it won't be the same. Santana won't invite her over for her mom's home cooked meals. Brittany won't think twice about trashing Quinn's picture in the yearbook, along with all the other losers. Without her uniform, Quinn is left feeling exposed and vulnerable, and closer to Lucy than anyone can ever know.

The truth is, in her heart, Quinn feels more like Lucy these days than she ever thought she would again. As she gains baby weight, she remembers what it was like to be heavy. Remembers all the lengths her parents went to, for Lucy to transform herself into Quinn. But without her uniform - without her high pony - where can Quinn hide the girl she really is?

She can't. And that's the real problem here. Soon, her parents are going to know everything, and it's going to be the Salem Witch Trials, except in Lima, and except that, in her parents eyes, she really will deserve as severe a punishment as she can get. It's going to destroy her. This baby. From the inside out.

She tries to breathe, but breaks down again, knowing that she can't blame the baby, not really. It was her own irresponsibility - her own _insecurity_ - that ultimately caused this. She's not going to make the baby pay for her own mistakes. And Quinn can never quite shake the quiet refrain that's been playing on a loop in her head, ever since she first found out:

_For You formed my inward parts;_

_You covered me in my mother's womb…_

_Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed._

_And in Your book, they were all written_

_The days fashioned for me,_

_When as yet there were none of them._

She knew her Bible verses backward and forward. In confirmation classes last year, Psalm 139 had been her favorite chapter in the entire book. Then, Quinn had looked on it for proof that she was meant to be here, even as she strove so hard to hide and change and _become _someone new entirely. Now, Quinn knows, just as she knows everything else that resonates in that deep, quiet place inside her, that her baby is also a spirit meant to be.

She knows God works in mysterious ways. She believes. She trusts him. She just wishes he wouldn't trust _her _as much as he apparently does. She's just a screwed up girl from Lima, who, no matter how she tries, cannot escape the feeling that she has no self-worth, apart from a uniform, a set of skills, a hair style, and popularity. She knows she should buy all the platitudes and lectures that people have spoken to her through the years: "God loves you." "God made you and he doesn't make mistakes." "You feeling so negatively about yourself is like a slap in God's face."

_Well,_ she thinks derisively_, I always _have _been a genius slapper_.

Not to mention, that it would have been a thousand times easier to buy into the idea of a loving heavenly father, if her earthly one shared any of the same sentiments. Needless to say, he didn't. His ideas about the role of a woman seem archaic and demeaning, but, like her mother, Quinn finds she cannot speak against him, so his words echo in her head, and she counts them off, feeling pieces of herself wither.

"_Hierarchy of leadership goes like this: Quinn, you submit to your mother, she submits to me, and I submit to God." _

"_Quinn, don't embarrass me like that, contradicting what's being said in the church. Your role is to be modest, learn quietly and be obedient. If you have questions, you ask _me, privately_ at home. Do you understand me? Women are not qualified to teach because of the order of creation and the fact of the Fall. It has nothing to do with culture. This _transcends _culture_!"

According to her father, this is the role of a woman. This is her role as a human being. To answer to men all of her life. To never question anything a man says. That her only way to have any merit is in relation to the men in her life. First, her father, and then, her husband. (_"Marry a good Christian man, and give me lots of grandchildren." "Women are saved, through childbearing."_)

According to her father's logic, having this baby could save her, but _only if _she marries Puck. Which is something she will never do.

It's not that surprising, really. Quinn has always known, somewhere, that she was unsavable.

The truth of it has been here all along, but now it's out for everyone to see. At least with the uniform, she could pretend. Hide in it, no matter what was going on. The presence of regular clothes is like a huge sign on her back, identifying her failure.

She stays out, driving around until Cheerios practice would be over, so her parents won't be suspicious. Thinks about Santana and Brittany and what they're doing. Thinks of football games and can't bear showing up and watching from the stands.

She is not prepared for this.

Still, Quinn takes a deep breath. She composes her face into the calm, perfect, flawless mask that her parents have come to expect. She works consciously to keep her hands relaxed, and not covering her stomach, as they were want to.

"I'm home," she calls, pushing open the front door and disappearing inside.

_The End._


	40. Freedom

**Summary: **Mercedes meant it when she said Quinn needed a safe place to dig through all that rage she's been feeling. In the week before Quinn gives birth, she does some serious digging. (Also a fill for the prompt: _Quinn-centric. Based off of "Millstone" by Brand New _from the Glee Angst Meme.) Allusions to 1x21, "Funk."

**Prompt: **Freedom

Quinn has one week.

_One week_ to let her guard down. To be angry. To cry, if she feels like it, which she does. To deal with all the crazy changes in her life. By the end of that week, her own mother would be back in her life. Her baby would be born.

But that week meant more to Quinn than she could ever put into words. She slept in Malik's bedroom and it felt more like being at home than her own ever had. She was careful not to move anything that first night, until Mercedes reassured her that her brother wouldn't mind.

When the Joneses raise their voices, the baby jumps inside Quinn, which makes _her _jump. It isn't that they're angry, it's that loud is their natural volume. They don't hold back, they don't fake it if they're upset about something, but they don't take it out on one another.

It's a foreign concept for both Quinn and her baby, who have been surrounded first by Quinn's dad, and then Puck and his mom. Loud noises are synonymous with lost tempers, disappointment, insults, and the slow destruction of trust and self-worth. Anything Quinn might have shared with her mother in confidence might come out of her father's mouth months later, meant to embarrass, humiliate or hurt her. In the Fabray house they never raised hands, but their words were enough.

The first night, Quinn is too exhausted to feel anything and falls into a restless sleep. The room smells like cologne and boy, but not like Finn or Puck, which is just fine by her. The second night, she curls up, arms around her middle and sobs. The baby reacts, probably freaked out by all the shuddering and sobbing. That's the night the door eases open and Mercedes climbs into bed beside her. She doesn't say anything, just rubs Quinn's sore back, and hums. And when Quinn tries to get herself together, Mercedes won't let her.

"You don't have to do that around me," she reassures. "We like emotions around here. We consider them a gift. If you didn't feel anything, you wouldn't feel the bad stuff, but you wouldn't feel the good stuff either. You wouldn't feel attachment to anybody you counted as close."

Quinn can't respond, just breaks down and cries some more. Cradling Beth inside her, and wishing for just a little more time. She knows that when she goes into labor, when Beth is here, that's it. Quinn will not change her mind. But that means no more feeling Beth jump when she's afraid, go still when she's asleep, stretch and roll when she's awake, get hiccups when Quinn eats Mexican food, or calm down when Quinn talks to her. It's weird having a little person growing inside her, but Quinn has gotten used to it. Sure, she's as big as a house, and she'll love losing the weight and getting back into that Cheerios uniform. But why does everything in her life have to be about losing?

She becomes an insomniac, not able to sleep among the mess she has made of her life. She thinks of her parents, once proud of her. Her God, who used to listen when she prayed. Her friends who don't talk to her anymore. Her reputation, ruined. Her home, gone.

It's no wonder Quinn can't sleep.

On the fourth night, after dinner, and homework, and family devotions, Mercedes' parents pray together, and Mercedes raises an eyebrow at Quinn. Instead of seeking her out, Quinn walks away, and shuts Malik's door in her face.

"What's up?" Mercedes asks, her tone gentle. She wasn't kidding when she said her home was a safe place. So far, it feels safer than the sanctuary of her home church, where the congregation judged her. Harshly. Silently.

"Nothing's up. I'm just tired," Quinn denies, the lie sliding out of her mouth so easily it scares her.

"You know, you can talk to me," Mercedes encourages.

"No, I can't! I can't talk to you without hurting my mother and I can't talk to _her _without hurting my father!" Quinn snaps. She covers her stomach protectively, wishing for headphones. Beth doesn't need to hear this and think Quinn is mad at her.

"You're mad."

"So?"

"So, _be mad_," Mercedes insists, stepping close to her.

"I don't want to scare her," Quinn admits.

"I think that's an excuse," Mercedes says plainly, no judgment in her tone. Then, unexpectedly, she lays her hands on Quinn's stomach. Had it been anyone else, Quinn would have told them off. Mercedes' hands, though, are gentle and sure. She addresses the baby calmly. "Mommy's angry right now, but not at you, all right baby girl?" She straightens up and eyes Quinn. Waits.

"I ruin everything I touch." Quinn admits, her tone numb.

"And?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Quinn demands, angrily.

"'Cause every single person in the world needs love. Especially you. Especially now," Mercedes says quietly.

"I don't want to hear it," Quinn denies, her voice low, and dangerous. "I don't need you, or your love or your family. I'm fine on my own."

"I know it probably feels safer that way," Mercedes ventures. "But it's awfully lonely on your own." Quinn doesn't speak so she keeps on. "How long are you gonna keep punishing yourself?"

"I _deserve_ it!"

"No, let me tell you somethin'. You _deserve_ love and respect. You deserve to feel whatever you're feeling. To be whoever you are without feeling ashamed. You deserve a home with parents who value you. You deserve all that," Mercedes says quietly.

When she takes a step toward forward, Quinn shocks herself by shoving Mercedes back a full step. But Mercedes is not intimidated. She keeps coming until she's wrapped Quinn in an embrace so warm that Quinn screams like an animal caught in a trap.

"Let me go!" she insists. She is out of control. But where she used to be a physical match for Santana in a fight, there is no equal footing with Mercedes. Her hug is never-ending. Strong and sure. Everything Quinn has needed, and never gotten.

Mercedes holds on until all the fight goes out of her. Until the tears that are under the anger come to the surface, and Quinn feels like she might never stop crying. It's horrible. But no bolt of lightening comes from the sky. No one intimidates her out of feeling exactly what she has to.

It's minutes or hours, but it doesn't matter. Mercedes is there. And once Quinn is all cried out, it's a little easier to accept what comes next.

Because three days later, Beth is born.

_The End._


	41. Transformation

**Summary: **Rachel, constant state of rehearsal and preparation. Requested by: ProfessorSpork.

**Prompt: **Transformation

Transformation takes effort. It takes time and commitment. Rachel Berry should know. She's dedicated her entire life to it. To rehearsal and preparing for roles and solos in musicals and glee club. Musicals had come first, though.

First, as a freshman, she'd had the female lead as Mary Collins in the McKinley production of _Give My Regards to Broadway_, a version of the 1942 film _Yankee Doodle Dandy_. Directed by an aging Mrs. Adler, the musical was less-than-stellar, despite Rachel's dedication to watching the film at least once a day to adopt the appropriate mannerisms and mimic the beautiful vocal tone when singing _Mary's a Grand Old Name_. Unfortunately, the whole thing ended up looking like a joke because Mrs. Adler had no sense of costuming or props and thus, their fighting men, were armed, onstage, with unwieldy squirt guns. Rachel was mortified.

So much for the months she had spent completely immersed in '40s fashion, history, style and music. _Give My Regards to Broadway_ had been a colossal joke, and would get Rachel no closer to her own dreams of starring on Broadway.

Sophomore year, Rachel was rewarded with the lead role in _Cabaret_. It lasted only a few glorious weeks. Weeks where Rachel became Sally Bowles. Weeks where Rachel could revel in the challenge of expanding her vocal range for the title song. And then Mr. Ryerson crushed her dreams, telling her she sucked, and Rachel vowed never to do another musical.

Then, junior year came, and with it, Mr. Schuester's suggestion to tackle _Rocky Horror_. Rachel was to be Janet. The racier material, the outfits and playing opposite Finn had been a dream. Until it wasn't. Until Mr. Schuester decided to take it all back. So, there were no more rehearsals of amazing songs like _Over at the Frankenstein Place_. They performed it for themselves, but it was not the same. Not even close.

Finally, Rachel was a senior, and after much drama and haggling, she received the lead role of Maria in _West Side Story. _She spent hours practicing her songs, her final scene, her accent, which Santana offered to help with (insisting that Rachel not sound fake, which was very nice of her.) In so many ways, for those two months, Rachel _became _Maria. Just as she had become those other roles.

You might think in the ensuing months between musicals, that Rachel has nothing to do, but that just isn't the case. There are solos and group numbers to rehearse. Rachel looks up everything she can about every single song. Who sings it, how they're feeling, what happened to inform their emotion.

There are very few moments of Rachel Berry's life where she is, simply, Rachel Berry.

Better to have a costume to hide behind, a role to immerse herself in. A song to sing as an exercise in how to get lost in anyone else's emotions but her own. The night before her last day at McKinley? Rachel cries that night. It's not any of the four kinds of crying Finn claims she has. It's fake or done while she's singing or disappointed, and, for once, it isn't about a guy. It's because without the security of someone else's shoes to fill, Rachel feels vulnerable. So vulnerable. How is she supposed to face the world like this? How is anybody supposed to love and accept plain-Jane Rachel Berry, when the only reason she was even created in the first place was to be beautiful and smart. To be a star. How is Rachel supposed to accept herself, knowing, deep down that her own flesh and blood sold her for a chance to make it big?

Well, life hasn't given her beauty, and academics have never been her foremost strength. Being a star is all she has left. So, if she can't come to the dinner table each night as Mary or Sally or Janet or Maria, Rachel finds she does not know what to say.

What lines are there to speak for a girl who has no idea who she is?

_The End._


	42. Something

**Summary: **Rachel has a fantastic day at school, until she realizes something is very wrong. Fill for a prompt from the Glee Angst Meme. Rated M for mature themes and implied violence.

**Prompt: **Something

September 30, 2009 may end up going down as the single best day in Rachel Barbra Berry's young life. Not because of what happened, but because of what _didn't happen_. For the first time in ten years, people left her alone. No slushie facials, no cruel remarks, and no dirty looks. It's so peaceful. Without having to take refuge in the girls' restroom and wash her hair and let the ice cold slush melt against her skin, Rachel finds she can get a lot more done.

She will never admit this aloud, but her academics have been suffering. Not only due to glee club but also the constant harassment she has endured since first grade. To have a break from it is a welcome change, though Rachel is not naïve enough to think it will last. Perhaps there was a transfer student with even more mannish hands than her own. Maybe making fun of that person took priority over making fun of the girl with two gay dads. She's gotten used to keeping her head down and saying very little during the day, so as not to get noticed.

Rachel concentrates her hardest in all of her core classes, getting more done than she's ever dreamed. The class seems subdued somehow, but Rachel doesn't notice. She is too busy trying to absorb the lecture on Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird.

It's in glee club that Rachel really notices something is off.

She walks up to Finn, and for the first time all day, speaks.

"Are you going to stay mad at me indefinitely?" she asks, but Finn doesn't meet her eyes. Ever since she quit glee a week ago, Rachel has found that the few friends she's managed to make aren't as firmly in her corner as she had thought. If Mr. Schuester had just recognized her talent, and not given that _West Side Story _solo to Tina, none of this would have happened in the first place. Besides, Rachel's back with them - her allegiance is firmly with glee. They should be happy she's back. But none of them look happy.

In fact, they all appear stricken.

"What happened?" she asks and no one responds. Not one of them look her way. Tina, Mercedes, Kurt, Artie, Quinn, Finn…all of them are pale, and unnaturally quiet.

"Okay everybody, have a seat," Mr. Schuester says. His voice sounds tight and stressed.

Why is Miss Pillsbury here?

Rachel takes her usual seat, whispering her question to a devastated Mike, who only shudders in response.

"Does anybody want to talk about what happened?" Mr. Schuester asks.

"I sh-sh-should have just given her the solo," Tina sobs. "Then none of this would have happened!"

"What's there to talk about?" Noah exclaims, his eyes haunted, voice angry. "She's gone and there's not a damn thing we can do about it. No one knows what happened. That roadside is crawling with cops and none of them have a damn clue!"

He gets up and leaves in a rush. Quinn is sobbing. Finn looks to be in shock. Even Santana and Brittany are crying quietly.

"I hope they catch whoever did it," Matt offers hollowly.

Rachel rises belatedly to follow Noah, who has slammed the door behind him, but her reflexes are too slow and she doesn't get a grip on the handle in time. She braces herself for impact, but instead, is shocked to find herself passing easily through its solid oak surface.

"What?" she gasps.

But suddenly, she knows. Rachel knows with a painstaking clarity that the reason no teachers called on her all day is not because they wanted to give other kids a chance to answer, but because they couldn't see her.

Because Rachel Berry isn't really here at all.

She's a ghost.

This doesn't make any sense at all. Her heart is beating a crazy rhythm in her chest. Experimentally, Rachel moves toward the door and leans forward, realizing she doesn't need to look in the narrow glass panel to see what is happening. Her head slides seamlessly through the wood, to hear the cries of her classmates. She jerks back.

Noah is forgotten while Rachel scans her mind for clues. She hasn't got any. The last conscious memory she has is a vivid and terrible one from the previous night. The dream that had not really been a dream after all. The dream where Rachel rose up out of her own destroyed body.

Someone killed her last night, but who?

Rachel tries to catch her breath. Tries to calm down, but she finds she can't. Her dads are out of town on another one of their cruises. They probably don't even know she's gone yet. And the truth of it sits heavy in Rachel's chest. She will never graduate high school, never go to a prestigious performing arts college, never star on Broadway, never marry Finn Hudson, or bear his children. She will never be a mother, and she will never meet her own. She can never tell the glee club she's sorry for leaving, because she never came back. She can never tell her dads thank you for raising her, for loving her, she can never tell them how much she loves them…

Regret tastes like tears, but Rachel can't cry. She realizes with a start that neither can she become thirsty or drink water until she isn't sad anymore.

* * *

For days, Rachel stays at McKinley. During school hours, she tries in vain to get answers from the other kids in glee. But when she tries to talk to Finn, he punches his locker. Next, she tries Quinn who breaks down in tears. She tries Mr. Schuester, who shakes his head, saying, "No," softly. Tina doesn't come to school, so Rachel can't ask her. She tries Matt, but he swallows the lump in his throat and keeps walking. Mike doesn't acknowledge her in any way. Santana screams in a way that is truly frightening, when Rachel asks a simple question. Artie, Mercedes and Kurt pick up the pace and try to outdistance her, not knowing how futile an effort this is. Brittany is the only one who says absently, "Rachel?"

"Yes, Brittany, it's me! It's Rachel. Listen to me. I need to find out what happened to me." Rachel says right into Brittany's ear.

"No one knows that, silly. Not even the cops," she says sadly.

* * *

It's Noah, it turns out, who is the most helpful in Rachel's quest for information. He breaks into Rachel's locker and takes out her day planner. He turns it to Monday, September 29th, and gets to work, retracing her steps. Rachel has never been more grateful for Noah's truant tendencies than she is today.

He is unusually careful and thorough. Rachel thinks absently that he would make a great detective. They're in the cafeteria where Noah makes his way through the line, as though he is her. He follows her mealtime outline to a tee. He buys the pita chips. Carrot sticks. Kiwi slices. Vegan wrap. Then he sits down at the table. He doesn't eat any of the food other than the carrots and kiwi. It's likely he is unfamiliar with the rest. Afterward, Noah stops briefly by Rachel's remaining classes, before leaving school altogether. Rachel eyes a wall clock.

11:34 AM.

* * *

Noah's own recreation of her final day lasts for several days of his own. By now, there has been a break in her own case. But Rachel can't bring herself to watch any news. She knows, in some deep part of her, that whatever truth the students at McKinley are being told, it is not complete.

The second week, Noah searches the parking lot. He breaks into her car and tears it apart - but expertly - looking for clues. He doesn't find any, and lets fly an impressive stream of curses.

* * *

Three months pass. The kids have moved on.

All but Noah.

Rachel doesn't go home, and as it turns out, neither does he. Noah drives around, blinking back tears and pounding the steering wheel to the beat of no music at all. Rachel rides in the passenger seat, but he doesn't see her. Of course not.

She turns on the radio and Noah seems stunned. Did that actually work?

"-_Sixteen-year-old high school sophomore, Rachel Berry-"_

Noah turns it off roughly.

Rachel tries again. "_-brutally murdered sometime in the evening on September 29__th__-"_

And again. _"-Allen County officials-"_

And again. _"-no leads-"_

And again. _"-homicide-"_

"Damn it!" Noah swears, swerving.

Rachel screams and braces herself, though it's pointless. She can't die twice.

When she dares open her eyes, she slowly realizes where they are. The exact place where that last dream had taken place. The side of that rural road on the city limits of Lima. She squints. There is a figure hunched in the fading light. Noah sees it, too.

"What are you doing here?" he asks easily, through a cracked window.

"I've come to pay my respects," a voice says.

And just like that, Rachel knows. She remembers that night. Staying late after school. Agreeing to stop by after a while, thinking it was only polite. And how fast things had gotten out of control. How, strangely, she remembered a sharp sensation but no pain. How there hadn't been time to scream.

"I didn't know you knew Rachel," Noah asks suspiciously. "I mean, I thought you kinda hated her."

"I could never hate her," the voice chokes through tears.

Rachel feels a premonition, and lays a hand on Noah's shoulder. He doesn't know she's there, but maybe he'll get the message. This isn't safe.

Noah shivers and pulls back onto the road, but keeps his voice steady as he calls out, "See ya, Mr. Ryerson."

* * *

_Rachel is prepared to quit Cabaret. Mr. Ryerson has gone from her number one fan, to the guy heckling her in the front row, telling her how much she sucks. But the conversation does not go according to plan._

"_Mr. Ryerson, I'm sorry, but I can't work like this," she apologizes once she rinsed all evidence of tears from her face. Her voice is calm. Her head is up. She means this._

"_I cannot lose my Sally Bowles, Miss Berry. You are forbidden to quit. If you do that, I'll simply have to write myself in as the lead in Cleopatra. Actually…that's not a bad idea…" he muses. It's strange, but by now, nothing he does surprises her._

_She's on her way out of the auditorium when he calls after her. It's dark. She's the only student left. Because she'd been the one 'in desperate need of his tutelage.' "Miss Berry. I need your script and your costume. All the vestiges of Sally Bowles."_

"_I- The costume is at home."_

"_I need it tonight and I'm not waiting around here for you to drive home. Here's my home address."_

_She makes quick work of getting the costume, and driving out to rural Lima, to the creepy house set off by itself in the middle of nowhere. It's a good thing Rachel's just going to drop this off and leave._

_The door opens before she has the chance to knock. He invites her in. Wearing an uncomfortably short pink kimono. He offers her tea and she accepts, not knowing how to refuse without risking him yelling at her. She drinks quietly and quickly, the costume across her lap._

_When she starts to get woozy, Rachel glances at her watch. She sees it's 10:30, but the numbers are replicating. She tries to get up. Tries to speak. But she can't do anything and slumps to the floor. _

"_You ruined my life," Mr. Ryerson's voice floats down from somewhere above her. "You turned me in to Principal Figgins and got me fired. I lost my livelihood. I lost the only thing I have ever loved. I'm living an empty life - except for my weekly MySpace conversations with Josh Groban - and now even those are taken from me."_

_There is quiet. So much quiet, but Rachel can't move. She never should have come here. _

_He's caressing her hair and exposing her neck. The blade of the knife glints in the creepy darkness of his sitting room. ""You take my life," he says, his voice soft and almost gentle. "I take yours."_

_The End_


	43. Robbery

**Summary: **Blaine, changing himself after the Sadie Hawkins dance to become safer and more heteronormative. Requested by: ProfessorSpork. Set in the You Don't Even Know universe.

**Prompt: **Robbery

The first thing Blaine does is cut his hair.

It's not an easy choice, but it's necessary. After struggling for years to grow his hair out, post-cancer - after having what little progress he'd made by sixth grade forcibly shaved off by eighth graders - he's kind of proud of the length. He hadn't even known his hair was curly until it came back after chemo. It had been a fun surprise. But it also made him a target.

So, he gets it cut - almost a buzz but not quite - it hurts to see the hair on the floor, but it has to be done. He meets his reflection in the mirror and doesn't recognize it. The still-healing split lip. The black eye. With the hair, it makes him look almost tough. Now, he just has to work on his clothes.

Because he doesn't want to be caught looking guys over, Blaine goes on Facebook and carefully studies pictures and videos of straight guys. To see what they wear. How they move. How they speak.

He hides the bowties and the nicer shirts and pants on a high shelf in his closet. Goes instead for Buckeyes sweatshirts, tee shirts, and jeans. He loses the satchel and buys a black backpack. He practices lowering the tone of his speaking voice. He tries all these things out on his parents first.

His mom asks if he's okay, but his dad tells her to "leave him alone."

If his dad is okay with it, Blaine knows, he must be doing something right.

His first day back to school - ribs still taped, face still bruised - Blaine walks the halls with a cocky confidence he has seen on the other guys. The straight, popular jocks. He has a letter jacket, and for the first time, wears it, to see if it will give him any protection.

Blaine's date from the dance doesn't come back to school. Blaine can't bring himself to go over, or call and ask how he is. Because Blaine is pretty sure he knows exactly how his date is. Run and hide. Or face the music.

Blaine has always loved music. But he can't anymore. He gets rid of all the songs on his I-Pod and replaces them with rock and punk bands he's heard classmates listening to. It just sounds like noise to Blaine, but it does the job at helping his expression stay passive at best, angry at worst.

Anger keeps the jocks from harassing him.

Or so he thinks, until he is shoved from behind and a group of upperclassman football players laugh. Not just football players. _Those_ football players from _that _night. The ones who took not only his sense of safety, but his identity, as well.

Though Blaine's heart speeds up in his chest, Blaine keeps his head up. He doesn't slow down. Most of all, he doesn't let anything show on his face.

He gets to Spanish class and slouches into a seat in the back, beside a popular girl. "Hey," he says lazily, in a voice he barely recognizes. "How bad do you think class is gonna suck today?"

She laughs and so does he.

This is easier than he thought.


	44. Nomination

**Summary:**The comments get to her. Tina knows they shouldn't, but the fact is, they do. Mostly because they strip her of any sense of identity she's been trying to build. Artie doesn't use her name. Allusions to 1x15, "The Power of Madonna." Fill for the "Tina/Artie - Black nail polish" prompt in the Glee Angst Meme.

**Prompt: **Nomination

"_If you're planning to get all up on this, you're gonna have to make some changes."_

The comments get to her. Tina knows they shouldn't, but the fact is, they do. Mostly because they strip her of any sense of identity she's been trying to build. Artie doesn't use her name. He calls her "girl" and says she's got "the pow" and that she needs to "work it more" if they're going to be an item.

It stings.

Tina always thought he was different.

He always saw deeper into her than most people. She thought he saw beyond the surface - that he understood her - but then she revealed that she faked the stutter and he took it way harder than she anticipated. Faking a speech impediment had been her own thing, borne out of shyness and it happened before she ever knew Artie. It wasn't supposed to be personal, but he had taken it that way, accusing her of using it to push people away. It was true, but it still hurt to hear him say it. She was never trying to say she knew what it was like to be like him, but maybe he looked at her and saw something he could relate to.

It was so confusing.

And now, like magic, he's over it, and treating her like absolute crap. Like objectifying her is going to really make Tina want to hang out with him at all. All she wants is for him to see her for who she is, and he has yet to do that.

Because, the truth is, Tina doesn't even know who she is.

She wants the people she thought she could trust to see her as a person, with feelings. She wants to be called by her name. To know somebody, somewhere sees beyond the clothes to the girl underneath. The girl who doesn't actually know herself very well at all, so she experiments with look after look until she finds one that accomplishes her purpose. It's like Artie says - she pushes people away.

It's the one thing Tina finds she is kind of good at.

So, she does just what he accused her of. She goes home and paints her nails black. She wears what she wants. It's a costume, but it's one that she's chosen. Because if Tina's going to hide, she wants to do it on her own terms.

If he wants to think she's overreacting when she demands to be treated with respect then that's a reflection on him. It has nothing to do with her.

But it still hurts. And Tina's never really known what to do with the kind of pain that results when someone fails to see her.

She really should figure something out for that since she deals with these feelings on a daily basis. Since she _has _dealt with them for years. Every day since Tina can remember.

It's something that's going to take a lot more than black nail polish to fix.

_The End._


	45. Away From Here

**Summary: **After the death of his wife, But almost committed suicide. Almost, because little Kurt - who Burt was dropping off to be looked after by family or friends - saved him without ever realizing it. And, even though Burt never told Kurt, or anyone else…years later…Kurt knows. Allusions to Season 1. Fill for a prompt from the Glee Angst Meme. WARNING: Depression and discussion of suicide.

**Prompt: **Love

Kurt is sitting quietly in the passenger side of his dad's truck. Because his mom's little car got all smashed up from when it crashed last week. He hates black ice. He hates winter. But it's December 1st. Sunday. Mommy crashed last Wednesday. They already had her funeral. People already came to tell how sorry they were. But no one was more sorry than Kurt.

Only four days without a mom and Kurt doesn't know what he'll do the rest of his life without her. She promised, if he thought of her, she would be somewhere thinking about him. But Kurt wished they could be in the same place, actually _with _each other instead of so far away and just thinking about each other.

He's sad all the time now, and so is his dad. His dad's so sad that he's dropping Kurt off at Mercedes' house. Kurt idly traces his finger in the frost on the window.

"Kurt, stop it," his dad says, his voice angry.

"I'm just cleaning it," Kurt manages, his voice thick. He finishes what he was doing anyway. Then he crosses his arms and holds his breath, hoping for no black ice. No trees.

When they get to Mercedes' house, Kurt lets out a breath and rushes out of the truck and up the Joneses driveway. They're a nice family. Mercedes, her eleven-year-old brother, Malik, and their mom and dad. They always make Kurt feel welcome. Like part of the family. Kurt just wishes he could have his own family right now. Like last Sunday when they slept in, ate French toast and his mom and dad danced around the kitchen to old songs.

That felt so long ago…

Instead of saying hi, he keeps his head down and walks in, bag over his shoulder. He's going to spend the night even though it's Sunday and a school night. His mom would never allow that, but Dad doesn't really know all the rules. He finds the crawl space in the toy room and goes inside, closing the little cupboard door. He hopes no one saw him come in here. He really wants to be alone.

Because things are scary right now, and Kurt doesn't have words for why. He needs his mom back, because she always knew what to do when things were scary. When he was getting picked on at school, or for even bigger things than that. But she's not here, and now it's only Kurt and his dad, and that's not enough people to make a family. He's only eight. He can't take care of his dad all alone. He wraps his arms around raised knees and buries his face, knowing that, sooner or later, everyone he loves will be gone, too.

* * *

Burt sits in the driveway, staring at the house one last time. He's numb with grief. At the funeral yesterday there hadn't even been an open casket. Kurt couldn't even see his mom one more time. Somehow, now that it's December, it marks the beginning of all the months and years Burt will have to face without Liz, and it's too much.

Years before, they'd made out a will together, deciding that, if anything should happen to them, Kurt was to be cared for by Liz's sister, and her family. Burt thought back to yesterday - how Kurt had stuck close to Aunt Deb - and how good she was with him. How she was just like Liz in so many ways that counted. And that sealed it.

Burt went to bed and slept soundly for the first time in three nights. This morning, he made quick work of getting Kurt breakfast, urging him through getting dressed and out the door, so he could play at Mercedes' house. Better to tell him that than the truth.

And now, it's now. And slowly, Burt pulls out of the driveway and drives to his favorite spot. It's got woods and nature, but winter has made it bare and depressing. He opens the glove box, and his hand closes around what he's going to need to make this whole thing final.

As he's pulling it out, something catches Burt's eye. Something on the passenger window. Slowly, his hand releases what he's holding. He lays it on the seat, and gets out. His boots crunch in the dirty snow as he walks to Kurt's side. He squints.

Backward, and looking like all one word, Burt makes out eight words that change the course of his future. They're probably lyrics. Kurt loves singing. He gets back in the truck and takes a second look, now that they read left to right. Suddenly, his vision's blurry. Because of all the words in the world his son could have written, Kurt chose these. Not an I love you, but instead:

_If you want to I can save you._

In that second, Burt comes to. Realizes what he's about to do, and sets about undoing it. He sticks the gun back in the glove box after pocketing the ammunition. Then, he goes to pick up Kurt and take him home.

* * *

It's been ten years, and Kurt can still remember the fear of that moment when he opened the glove box before they left that Sunday morning - checking out one of his mom's favorite secret hiding spots for gum and candy - and found the handgun instead. The half a dozen crumpled pieces of papers that each started out _Dear Kurt _in his father's hand…and trailed off into ominous silence.

To this day, he can't explain it, but Kurt just knew.

And those words, which had been playing on a loop in his head ever since that awful Wednesday night had gone from Kurt's brain, to his finger, to the window. They were lyrics from the last song he and his mom sang together. Maybe, since they couldn't sing it together anymore, he remembered thinking, if he wrote it down, his mom could read it and know he was thinking about her.

That Sunday, when his dad came back to get him, and squeezed into the tiny crawl space, Kurt had clung to him and sobbed.

And for the first time, Kurt's dad cried, too.

_The End._


	46. Meant to Be

**Summary: **Puck using a condom with a girl he actually cares about? Requested by: ProfessorSpork. Riff #4 on the Between Friends prompt 'Be Prepared.'

**Prompt: **Revenge

Looking at Beth's face now, he thinks a lot about how she almost - maybe - wouldn't have existed at all. If Quinn had taken him up on the protection he'd brought. But she hadn't.

She'd been pissed about a totally out of line comment her dad made, saying if she didn't focus on portion control, she'd wind up looking pregnant. Sure, Puck made comments sometimes, but he knew from firsthand experience that having your dad say crappy things about you stung way worse than if anyone else said the same thing.

So, they'd had some wine-coolers. Made out. He got out his wallet and his favorite brand, all ready to be responsible because Puck knew she was the Celibacy Club president and maybe a virgin. Probably a virgin. He didn't actually know.

Anyway, the point is, when he moved to put it on, Quinn stopped him.

"No, forget it. Leave it off. My dad wants to tell me I'll look pregnant after eating an extra scoop of mashed potatoes, let's show him what real pregnant looks like…"

Puck blinked. He never really did it with that goal in mind before. And before they made any kind of progress on that front, Quinn had made him tell her one more time that she wasn't fat. Her dad really was an asshole.

Beth had always been the reason Puck held that you should never have anger sex. But looking at her now, he wondered if maybe there was more to her existence than a desire for revenge. Maybe she really was meant to be here. Maybe she wasn't an accident.

Puck definitely didn't regret her being here, even though the road to get where he was now had been hard and long. He always did need to take the longest way with the most obstacles in order to really learn stuff, and grow, and mature. Now, with Beth, he had a reason to be all those things.

He had a daughter.

He kissed her face, avoiding the place where the plastic surgeon had stitched her lip. She whimpered and laid her head on his shoulder. In that moment - walking out of the hospital with his baby girl and Shelby - things were pretty perfect.

Now if only Quinn could realize how much Beth needed her. If only she could see how good things could be.

But that was up to Quinn to figure out in her own time.

In the meantime, Puck went home with Shelby, and went for his wallet again - despite his vasectomy - girls still felt safer if they knew Puck wasn't about to let some of his champion sperm loose.

It was great.

And that's why, when Shelby ended it, it hurt so bad. Because Puck had started imagining a life for the three of them. He liked this. Being a dad. Being there to move heavy stuff and try to put cribs together. Being the one who got the call when Beth was hurt, or when she said a word, or did something cute.

The empty feeling inside as he walked out the door, casting a last look at Beth as she slept, let Puck know just how pissed Quinn had been all that time ago. How it could be possible to want other people to hurt just as bad as you did.

Still, Puck didn't press his luck. So, no Cougars, no speeding, no getting drunk. No trashing Shelby's rep. Just loud, loud music from his _Jewish Artists _playlist.

Revenge didn't turn into a miracle every day, Puck knew.

Beth was the exception, not the rule.

_The End._


	47. After

**Summary: **Santana comes back to school after being hospitalized. But before that, she listened to every single one of her voice messages. Miss Pillsbury's resonated the most, and Santana finds that as much as she doesn't want to, she needs an ally at school. Sequel to ATP 30, "Writing." Requested by Tara621.

**Prompt: **Longer

Santana's brief stay in the hospital to get her head back to normal felt so long at the time. Now, she kind of wishes she were back there. Not that she wants to feel so out of control again. It was just…kind of safe…she knew what to expect. It's like, that little bit of time in there changed her - the diagnosis of bipolar disorder changed her - and now she's this completely new person.

A little more terrified.

And _a lot _more medicated.

It's been a few weeks, but Santana's told it could take up to a _few months _to reach a good level in her system. Which means Santana has to continue to feel horrible until that happens. The side-effects are hideous. Headaches and stomachaches. Dizziness. She can't stay awake during the day because the damn pill makes her so drowsy. And then there's the risk of weight gain.

It's all too much for Santana, who prides herself on her social status as a Cheerio. She knows Coach Sue will kick her off if she gains too much. It's not her fault. But it's still humiliating.

She's got a therapist now, who's all about Santana realizing what her diagnosis means, what her limits are, and owning her behavior. It sucks.

When she got out of the hospital, Santana had checked her phone and was shocked to find multiple missed calls and ten new voice messages. Apparently, Santana had freaked out everyone from Brittany and Trouty Mouth to Coach Sue.

It's the last message, though - the one from Miss Pillsbury - that makes Santana's eyes well up with tears. She listens carefully to the office number and then programs it into her phone, knowing she will never use it. Still, it means something to have it there.

Another day at McKinley means another day facing the weird looks from Karofsky and the cold shoulder from a lot of the kids in glee. They talk the talk but when it comes to realizing that Santana might have her own shit to deal with and that's why she's been acting so erratically…they just don't see it. And she's too much of a coward to speak up and tell them the truth.

Everyone doesn't need to know how messed up her mind is.

She falls asleep when Mr. Schuester puts on a sombrero and insists that whoever joins him in his interpretation of "Spanish dancing" will get ten points of extra credit. It's so insulting, but Santana's too tired to be insulted. She fights to keep her eyes open but, God, the sight of Schuester gyrating in a style that's _not _break dancing is hideous and she falls asleep on her desk in the back row.

What feels like seconds later, he's shaking her shoulder, massacring the Spanish pronunciation of "excuse me," loudly. At least he's not spraying her with a squirt bottle like another teacher had. So beneath her. When Schuester sends her to Principal Figgins' office, she says nothing, just goes.

She is so tired.

She should just stop taking the pills.

Even when she was depressed, she was never this tired. But her parents and her shrink are keeping close tabs on her. If she stops taking the pills, she knows, her life will spin out of control again.

She swallows, and tries to keep her head up.

Still.

What a crappy choice.

Figgins' is busy yelling at Coach Sue in his office about her sabotaging the glee club's travel itinerary to New York by rerouting them to Tripoli. It holds Santana's attention for about two seconds before she starts to nod off again.

"Santana?" a gentle voice asks.

She opens her eyes and finds herself face to face with Miss Pillsbury. Literally, she's down at eye level with the chair Santana's occupying.

"Sorry," she apologizes automatically, hoping she didn't drool anywhere.

"What are you doing here?" Miss Pillsbury wonders, her brow furrowed.

"I…got sent here by Mr. Schue when I fell asleep in Spanish III…" she confesses, avoiding Miss Pillsbury's gaze.

"Principal Figgins," Miss Pillsbury calls, tapping on the office door and coming face to face with a livid Coach Sue. "Principal Figgins, you have a guest, but if you're busy, would you mind if I spoke with her first?"

"Be my guest," Figgins sighs. Coach Sue is clearly all he can handle.

Miss Pillsbury leads the way to her office and closes the door behind her. Santana would feel better if the walls weren't glass so everybody walking by could see in. Kind of defeated the point of confidentiality if you asked her.

Santana takes a seat in one of the chairs and tries not to get too comfortable. She eyes the pamphlet that Santana knows used to read: **My Mom's Bipolar and She Won't Stop YELLING** but now reads: **Medication with Hideous Side-Effects: What Happens After Bipolar Diagnosis.**

Some people might take offense. Some people might claim Miss Pillsbury's got no idea what she's talking about, but Santana knows she must. With that shirt a few weeks ago that read OCD? How could she not understand, at least a little? Santana gingerly picks the pamphlet up and cracks a smile.

She opens it, and scans, impressed at how all of Santana's own side-effects, including ones she doesn't even have. Somehow, after that, Santana kind of feels lucky.

Miss Pillsbury just waits.

"Do you take something, too?" Santana asks, her brain still exhausted. "Oh, crap. Not like you can answer that… Never mind."

"No, I can't…" she admits. "But I _have _experienced bad side-effects a time or two," she reveals. A pause. "I know this sounds like something an adult says to placate a teenager, but trust me, Santana. It _will_ get better."

Santana looks away and bites her lip. "I never felt this crappy before…" she admits, her voice shaking, and she struggles to keep her emotions in check, hating herself for not yet recognizing what was genuine and what was symptomatic. "I just want to stop taking it."

"Are you under a doctor's care?"

Santana nods, still not trusting her voice.

"Okay. Well, I'm not a doctor, and I'm not dispensing medical advice as a guidance counselor either. Guidance counselors give guidance. But think of this as a friend helping a friend."

"Okay…" Santana manages.

"See what your doctor has to say about dosages or time of day," Miss Pillsbury suggests.

"What difference would _that _make?" Santana remarks irritably.

"It could mean the difference between sleeping at night when you're actually supposed to versus sleeping during the day. Also, sleeping through the gut-twisting stomach aches. Right? How does that sound?"

"Better than right now…" Santana admits.

There's a tap on the glass window and Figgins is out there, asking for "Miss Lopez." Santana drags herself to her feet, tucking the pamphlet about hideous side-effects into her bag. She's almost to the door when she stops and turns.

"Hey, Miss P?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for the message. It…really helps," Santana forces the words out and then ducks out the door.

She looks back one more time at Miss Pillsbury's kind face. Sees her nod.

Having someone in Santana's corner? Someone who gets what it's like? That means more than Santana can ever express.

But thanks will have to do.

_The End._


	48. Candles

**Summary: **Everyone forgets Quinn's birthday. Even her parents. A few days later, Mr. Schuester or Rachel looks at the glee club calendar and realizes they have. Heavy angst. Allusions from 3x15 "Big Brother" through 3x18, "Choke." Fill for a post in the Glee Angst Meme. Requested by: Anonymous.

**Prompt: **Bare

April 14th came and went, and not one person said anything to Quinn. It was the most she'd come to expect from her parents. Ever since that last fight with her dad their relationship had deteriorated to nothing at all. Her mom was too busy with work and social functions. To her, Quinn was almost grown anyway, birthdays had less significance as you aged. But her mom wasn't turning eighteen.

Her mom wasn't living on the other side of the worst few years of her life. Her mom wasn't holding her breath, hoping that someone, somewhere would remember her birthday and say something. Her mom wasn't less than two months removed from a horrific car crash that could have taken Quinn's life. Her mom wasn't the one feeling like, maybe, this birthday had a little extra significance. Not because Quinn was turning eighteen, but because she was still here to celebrate at all.

No one said anything.

Not at home. Not even at school, where Santana and Brittany were great about remembering. She could always count on pineapple upside down cake from Santana's mom, and a genuine "happy birthday" from Santana. A homemade card from Brittany. But this year, there's nothing.

She'd just done Senior Ditch Day with Artie at a terrifying skate park with steep ramps. It was kind of exhilarating - but only increased her isolation. What she wouldn't have given to go to Six Flags. To ride a roller coaster without a care in the world like everyone else. She'd have liked, instead of concentrating on all the ways she was different, to have gone with the majority. If Quinn wasn't allowed to ride something, she would have gained some joy by at least being with them - and maybe she could have thought of ways to join in. Oh well. No chance of that now.

Quinn found herself making excuses for them. The kids in glee. Quinn had only come back to school this past week. The 14th was on a Saturday. Maybe everyone was busy. She could celebrate by herself, but what would she do? She couldn't drive. The house was inaccessible. So, she spent the day alone, doing what she had done for the past few Saturdays. Watched television. Tried to catch up on school work. And ride out the pain that her injury caused that she tried so hard to keep hidden.

In the end, it was just like every other day. No candles. No cake. Not one gift. Not one hug. Her mom wasn't even home, and instead had hired some kind of nurse to care for Quinn while she worked and ran errands.

* * *

The next week, Quinn's pain flared up and she couldn't be in school. It wasn't as if it was any big loss. They were doing 70s music, even though all of them had told Mr. Schuester time and time again that it wasn't in, but he wouldn't be convinced.

No, Quinn didn't miss the John Travolta style dancing. The white leisure suits. The awful songs. She stayed at home, riding out pain. She went to the hospital for rehab and gritted her teeth through all the exercises. She forced herself to move forward - and not stay stuck in the past - for the lack of acknowledgement of her birthday.

But it left her feeling cold. Exposed. Vulnerable in a way she couldn't explain.

And when, two weeks later, they realized their oversight it was too little too late. By then, Rachel was auditioning for NYADA. Puck was dealing with seeing his dad. And the pain. And the rehab. It was working, but not fast enough.

So, she put her worries aside and concentrated on something she _could _do. She had one more week until prom. One more week to be crowned and show everyone how all her hard work paid off. She would walk - stand, at least - to show them that this did not define her.

Quinn Fabray would move forward. Birthday or not. She would move forward.

_The End._


	49. Jewel

**Summary: **Rachel is HIV-positive. She drops a bottle of her medication one day and it is found by someone at school. The school goes into overdrive trying to educate the students about HIV. Meanwhile, the kids in glee try to figure out whose medication it is since the prescription label had been removed. Requested in the Glee Angst Meme. AU version of events in 1x06, "Vitamin D."

**Prompt: **Jewel

Life as Rachel Berry knows it is over. She knows this as surely as she knows her own name. She saw the letter from school - the one that her dads tried to hide from her - from Principal Figgins, detailing concern over a found prescription bottle. Upon further inspection, Figgins had discovered that it contained pills commonly used to treat HIV.

Rachel knows all about it.

The bottle is hers.

It must've fallen out of her bag. She was supposed to turn it in to Terri Schuester but Rachel hadn't been able to go through with it. Mrs. Schuester didn't know the first thing about nursing.

Rachel's only saving grace is that she had removed her name from the label, in the girls' bathroom. Her illness was a part of her life, but she didn't need gossiping strangers knowing her private business. Naively, Rachel had thought removing her name would remove all possibility of being outed, so to speak. She hates being the sick girl.

Well, she _is _the sick girl, and the truth is out now, and Rachel doesn't know the first thing about what to do. Her dads are furious at her carelessness.

"Do you know you could be _expelled_? Rachel, any medicine you take during the day needs to go through the school nurse. You _know this_. Honey, you could be charged with a crime," her dad insists. His voice is harsh and kind of scares her.

"Dad, the school nurse was fired, and Mr. Schuester's _wife _is taking over for her. She's already giving Finn and the other boys pseudoephedrine. I wouldn't trust her with _any _information I gave her, much less _confidential _information. I didn't want it getting out," she managed thickly. "I didn't want anyone treating me differently."

"Rachel, if you were worried, why didn't you come to us?" her daddy asks, taking her hand.

"I didn't really think it through…"

"You're darn right you didn't…" her dad scoffs. Then sighs, look at Daddy.

"The school's having an assembly to educate the student body today. If we excuse you, it could raise suspicions."

Rachel nods, understanding. If she wants to keep her own secret, she'll have to pull off the best acting job of her life. Uninformed, uncaring or afraid high school student, listening or not to Principal Figgins detail facts about an illness Rachel lived with every single day. One she had been born with. One that, without a cure, Rachel would die with.

She sees it in her fathers' eyes. The way they look at her like someone precious. Someone treasured. Someone, period.

It means the world to her. That, to them, she is simply Rachel. Nothing more, and certainly, nothing less.

* * *

The assembly is excruciating. Listening to Principal Figgins read dispassionate details of a very real illness she lived with every single day. None of the kids were listening. Few cared. Rachel knew by looking that a good portion of the student body hadn't even come to school today.

Unconsciously, she bristled. She thought of others, before her, who had unwillingly paved the way for someone like her. A boy from Illinois. A girl from Nevada. Dealing with discrimination and fear. They fought for equal treatment. For education. They spoke out.

They were advocates. Trailblazers. No one _wants _this disease, but they, at least, owned having it. Rachel, on the other hand, wants to distance herself from it entirely. She never wants those three little letters attached to her name. She clings hard to her dream of being a star, because the truth, that she might die sooner than her peers is paralyzing. She sticks to a strict schedule, works hard, eats right, and pushes herself to do as much as possible, as fast as possible. Because even though it's 2009, and advances are being made every day, medically…Rachel has to be realistic. The fact is, death is a possibility for her. Any illness she contracts - a cold, the flu, anything - has the potential to land her in the hospital or worse.

She swallows the lump in her throat, and feigns interest in Finn, who isn't paying attention in the slightest.

* * *

"Whose do you think it is?" Mercedes asks, and Rachel forces her face into a smile. Forces herself to sit down. To not run from the room.

"I don't know, but it was _definitely _for treating HIV," Mike offers softly. "Karofsky showed me the bottle. My dad didn't want me to come to school today."

"That's it," Santana announced loudly. "Quinn, I definitely have got to retake that Celibacy Club pledge and mean it this time…"

"Lord Tubbington's making me join a convent," Brittany announced vaguely.

"Wait, you're a _nun_?" Kurt asks, incredulous.

"Deal with it," she returns and takes a seat.

Is it just Rachel or is no one really touching one another? Her heart aches. Rachel wishes she were brave enough to stand up and add things to Principal Figgins' lecture. Personalize it a little. Make it real, but not so scary. Tell them the important things that were covered and a few more that weren't.

Like, know your status. Get tested. Knowledge is power. It really is. (But also: it's okay to be friends with me.)

Like, have honest conversations with any and all sexual partners so you know _theirs_ as well. (But also: it's okay to swim in a pool with me.)

Like: use caution around all bodily fluids. Wear gloves. Don't share needles. Don't become blood brothers. (But also: It's okay to hold my hand. Just like it's okay to hug me.)

Rachel Berry is many things. (Sick. A coward. Precious. Treasured. Talented.) Brave, it turns out, just isn't one of them.

_The End._

* * *

**Author's Note**: I want to thank everyone who takes the time to read this story. It is a subject very close to my heart. I had a friend who was diagnosed with HIV/AIDS. The time between diagnosis and death was very short, but no life is too short to have an impact. Below you will find other sources of information on HIV/AIDS I've read/watched/searched over the years. Many of them are somewhat dated, but the personal perspectives in each offer insight that is unparalleled.

If you would like to learn more about real people with HIV/AIDS, search:

**Pedro Zamora** (The Real World, San Francisco, 1994) - my earliest education about HIV/AIDS came from this amazing young man. Go MTV's Website to and watch his season of Real World. Be inspired.

**Hydeia Broadbent** (HIV/AIDS activist, who was born HIV-positive in 1984 and not expected to live past age 5.) Today, she is 28 and continues to inspire the world. Check out her Twitter, and her Website for more information. I'd also recommend searching her on YouTube.

_DVDs:_

RENT - Live on Broadway (1996 musical by Jonathan Larson)

RENT the film (2005 movie adaptation of the musical)

_Books:_

It Happened to Nancy - by: An Anonymous Teenager

You Get Past the Tears - by: Patricia Broadbent and Hydeia Broadbent


	50. Daylight

**Summary: **In the midst of preparing for Sectionals and drama about yearbook photos and whether Finn or Puck is the father of Quinn's baby, Kurt grieves the anniversary of his mother's death, and the New Directions are confronted with their own selfishness. Allusions from 1x11, "Hairography" through 1x13, "Sectionals." Fill for a prompt in the Glee Angst Meme.

**Prompt: **Daylight

The same week that Kurt Hummel gives Rachel Berry an absolutely hideous makeover, so that she looks like Sandy, from the end of _Grease _(and so Finn will be so turned off he won't look twice at her. So that, maybe, he'll look at Kurt, instead…) he goes to the cemetery. Because, like it or not, it was the end of November. Like it or not, seven years had passed since his mom's car accident. This year, he lays flowers.

The first few years, he'd left his homework, so his mom could see it. Laid across the top of the headstone, weighed down by small rocks so the wind wouldn't carry it away. In middle school, he rarely went to the cemetery at all. It was too painful. And besides, none of the other kids at school went to visit their deceased parents. At least, that's what Kurt told himself.

He started coming again, last year, after his dad disappeared and it shook Kurt up enough to take his bike out in the middle of winter and go looking. His dad had disappeared once before. It hadn't been good. Kurt found him, though, in the cemetery, talking to Mom, like everything was normal.

This year, for some reason Kurt can't place, it hurts more. Memories are so vivid. He swears off milk and claims it's in preparation for Sectionals. Milk increases congestion and Kurt can't be congested. Kurt's dad understands. Drops absolution into conversation randomly. ("Did you bring in the mail? Hey, it's not your fault, you know?")

But that's just it. Kurt has never known, not really. He has never been able to forgive himself for the damn gallon of milk he had begged his mom to get the night before Thanksgiving when he was eight. So he'd be able to drown an Oreo cookie as a bedtime snack. She was supposed to be gone five minutes, at most. Instead, she'd slid on black ice, crashed into a tree and been gone from his life forever. The guilt still torments him, despite his dad's reassurances and even, a session with a child psychologist. Something like that…well…you don't get over it. You carry it with you. You pray it doesn't drown you.

Needless to say, it's hard to genuinely care about the goings-on in glee. He fakes it well. Says all the right things. Practices his hairography. Makes over Rachel because it feels good to stay busy. Because if he is busy, he won't have to think.

But the anniversary comes and goes, and Kurt doesn't feel any better. In fact, he feels worse. Seven years, and it hurts as much as it ever did that night. When his mom had been gone longer than she should have and the phone rang. When his dad picked it up and rushed them both out the door minutes later to wait in a tense, quiet waiting room for any word.

When they got moved to a subsequent waiting room - a private one - Kurt hadn't known to prepare himself. He was sure his mom would be okay. She always wore her seatbelt. She was always careful. But she wasn't okay. And Kurt cried, and his dad didn't. Not until days later.

Kurt shakes his head, trying to clear it. Trying to focus on what Mr. Schuester is saying about not being able to travel with them to Sectionals. He tries to care about the subsequent drama of Finn storming out of glee. But he just can't.

* * *

Sectionals is over by the time Mercedes notices something isn't right with him. It's been twelve days and Kurt is no better. He's depressed and withdrawn. She calls to ask him to come and hang out, but he just mumbles something and hangs up on her.

He doesn't go to school the next day. He stays home and sleeps because during the nights he can't sleep at all. There's a knock on the door that afternoon and before he knows it, Mercedes is there, in his room. In his bed, arms around him, comforting him in the way only a best friend can.

"Sorry, I totally forgot," she apologizes in a whisper. "I let the kids in glee have it, and myself with them for not paying more attention to each other these last few weeks. I mean, there are more important things than solos and competing and boyfriends…"

Kurt doesn't say anything. His back is to her, so she won't see the truth. That though it's been almost two weeks, Kurt's composure is shaky, at best. She stays for a while, and then kisses his temple and says to call if he needs her.

Over the next few days, odd things happen. Kurt gets flowers and a heartfelt note from Quinn, who says she can't imagine his pain. That she's sorry for his loss. He gets sympathy cards from Tina, Brittany and Artie. A coupon for free pool cleaning in the spring from Puck, despite the fact that the Hummels have never had a pool.

Finn stops by and stumbles through his own version of an apology, likening his loss of the father he never really knew to Kurt's own. Anger surges through Kurt, and he throws a pillow in Finn's general direction because how dare he? He doesn't feel like anyone else who's lost someone. No two losses are alike. Finn should know that. Eventually contrite, he apologizes and leaves Kurt alone.

The next day, Kurt opens his bedroom door to find a plate of Rachel's I'm Sorry cookies and a CD of songs performed by her. The heartbreaking variety (Angel by Sarah McLaughlin, One Moment More by Mindy Smith, My Immortal by Evanescence, Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again from Phantom…and on and on it goes.) Kurt eats the cookies. He can't listen to the music, but he appreciates the effort.

The thing that breaks through his darkness is also the most unexpected. He passes the tree his mother crashed into a million times a day. But one day in January, he's driving to school. Daylight is just breaking when he sees something out of place flapping in the wind from his mom's tree.

He hates that he refers to it that way, but it is what it is. The last place she was. The last thing she saw. It's sacred for that, if nothing else. Kurt pulls over, studies the tree and then gets out, forcing himself to take a closer look.

And he can hardly believe his eyes. The trunk of his mom's tree is wrapped in a careful rainbow of crepe paper streamers, completely covering the damage from the impact of his mom's car seven years earlier. Kurt is breathless, gently touching it, hardly believing that someone, somewhere took the time to remember his mother. That they took the time to make the place where she took her last real breath beautiful.

A sound behind him makes Kurt turn.

In the pale dawn glow, he can just make out three figures, walking away arm-in-arm-in-arm. Two boys and a girl, all dark-haired. All in letter jackets, the girl in a familiar red Cheerios skirt and workout pants. In a second he knows them:

Mike Chang, Matt Rutherford and Santana Lopez.

He doesn't know how they know which tree holds so much significance or how they knew when to do it, so Kurt would be sure to see the tree, at its best, but it hardly seems to matter. He touches the tree tenderly. Stays while the sun rises, so he can see the love his friends left behind, in all its brilliance.

It's the best gift he could have been given. Kurt has no doubt his mom is behind it somehow, because it has the power to break his darkness…

Just like she always did.

_The End._


	51. Even If You Cannot Hear My Voice

**Prompt: **Payment

**Summary: **Everyone expects the worst out of Kitty, but no one bothers to look beyond the surface, to the loss that caused the meanness. During "Wonder-ful" week, Kitty makes a conscious choice to mirror the theme, because that's what her little sister would want. Requested by Anonymous (and The Allyphant, who also requested Kitty.)

It's not exactly easy turning over a new leaf. It'd be much easier to just give everyone a hard time and call it a day. But Stevie Wonder and all his Wonder-fullness kind of ruin that for her. And by kind of, Kitty means completely.

The thing about it is, no one knows. If her parents had their way, no one would ever know. There are no pictures. No memories at all that Kitty can look back on to prove that Bristol was even real.

She should have treated her better. That much is obvious. Because she didn't, Kitty has spent the past six years making other people's lives suck. But not so they'll be miserable (even though that helps a little.) It's so Kitty will be miserable.

Bristol was four when she got cancer. Actually, that's wrong. She was born with it, but it wasn't until Bristol was four that they found it. That she lost her appetite, got a feeding tube, became so lethargic that Kitty couldn't even talk to her without Bristol falling asleep. Eventually, there were other meds. Ones that made her face puffy and her hair really thick and bushy. Her personality came back, and so did her appetite.

But, Kitty was ten.

How was she supposed to know that they were just prolonging the inevitable?

Because she hadn't known. Not at all. It had come completely out of nowhere. She left one afternoon, as Bristol rested on the couch and watched Spongebob on TV, and by the time Kitty got back she Bristol was just gone.

For the longest time, it bugged her. Not being there. Not remembering if she even told Bristol she loved her. But lately, Kitty's been remembering other things. How Bristol's favorite song was _You Are My Sunshine. _(Kitty has plans to pay tribute to her sister _You Are The Sunshine of My Life_, but then Kurt decides to sing it for his dad, who actually beat cancer. It's nice. Kitty's glad someone beat it.)

She remembers how Bristol used to annoy the crap out of her, wanting to do everything Kitty was doing. But how Kitty would do anything, give anything, for one more day - one more hour - one more minute with her sister. She wishes she would have treasured everything a little bit more. How they prayed together every night before bed. And while Kitty prayed to pass spelling tests and for boys to like her, Bristol prayed for good dreams, and that everyone would be nice to each other. She wouldn't just say for God to bless the people they liked, Bristol asked God to bless "everyone." Kitty used to have no idea how she got so wise, so fast. But maybe it was _because _she had to live fast…

She remember, afterward, at the funeral, staring at the little paper about Bristol's life. Those dates. How they twisted inside her, but how she kept her face a mask of indifference. She's ashamed now, whenever she thinks of shrugging off her friends' condolences, like she didn't care. Like Bristol hadn't mattered.

But she did matter. She still does. And sometimes, when Kitty least expects it, she has the most vivid dream, where Bristol is there. Where she doesn't say anything, but she looks healthy, and whole. Where she just lays beside Kitty in bed, and holds Kitty's hand while she sleeps.

It's those days she knows how much it will suck to wake up. Those are the days when she's usually extra mean to everyone. But a dream like that and Wonder-ful week gives Kitty pause. It makes her stop and think. What would Bristol do?

She'd love everyone, that's what. Because that's what Bristol did when she was here.

So, even though it's hard, Kitty tries. She's reached out to Ryder, and she's not stopping there. She stops Artie and figures out what's wrong with him. She stops by his house and talks to his mom so she'll know what the heck is going on with her kid.

Even though Kitty is loathe to admit it…it helps...being there for others.

And she kind of feels Bristol's spirit a little more this week.

And that's worth a million dumb glee club lessons, if you ask Kitty.

_The End._


	52. When Jake Met Beth

**Prompt: **Collage

**Summary: **Jake meets Beth. Requested by Anonymous.

"So, you asked her, and she was just cool with it?" Jake asked, keeping his voice down as he and Puck walked through a Lima park with slides and swings in late February.

"Well, she _did _kinda give me the third degree about you. She's only here for her parents' wedding anniversary and not very happy about it either. Not that I care. She had her shot with me and she blew it. Anyway, I had to do some fast talking to convince her you were an okay kid. I think the glee thing put it over the top. 'Cause she used to coach Vocal Adrenaline. Told her how you guys kicked ass at Regionals and she seemed impressed. Told her how you're doing better in school. Going to class, and all that. She said she'd give it a shot."

Jake raised his eyebrows. "I just…can't believe I'm about to do this…meet your daughter…"

"She's Shelby's daughter," Puck corrected, his voice hard.

"Yeah," Jake shrugged, "but, I mean, you, like, _gave birth _to her and all that, right?"

Puck cracked a weary smile. "Quinn did that."

"Right. So, are you bummed she couldn't make it out too, to see Beth?" Jake asked carefully. His single interaction with Quinn Fabray hadn't exactly been positive, but they all had Beth in common, so Jake tried to be kind when he spoke about her.

Puck shrugged. "She wouldn't have come. Last year, after Regionals, she was in that wreck. Bad time of year for her."

Jake tucked his hands in his pockets. He'd heard stuff about that accident in the last few days. From Joe or Sam mostly, but even then, they didn't talk about it much. Just sent each other nervous looks the whole day that had nothing to do with the competition. When they had a prayer before show circle and Joe prayed for safety, and Sam, Blaine, and several others echoed it, Jake hadn't understood. Now, though, he got it.

"Bad time of year generally," Jake said back, his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Hey. Heads up. They're here."

* * *

Jake could not have looked any different from his sort-of-niece if he tried. She was straw-blonde and hazel eyed, running around in fancy yellow dress, white leggings and pink jacket.

"Hey, Noah," Shelby greeted. "Sorry, I didn't plan this out very well. She's stir-crazy and wanted to go outside…and it's a balmy 26 degrees…" Shelby remarked, taking a sip of local coffee and grimacing. "God, I miss my Keurig."

"No problem. Uh, Shelby, Jake. Jake, this is Shelby," Puck introduced.

"Nice to meet you," Jake said and extended a hand for Shelby to shake.

"Wow. This is the Twilight Zone, huh?" Shelby commented, a wide smile on her face. "Noah, you never mentioned you had a brother."

"He didn't know," Jake hurried to explain. "But, you know, we're making up for lost time. Thanks, by the way, for letting me come and meet her," Jake said, nodding in the direction of Beth.

"Yeah, no problem. Hey, Beth. Come say hi to Noah and Jake," she called over her shoulder to where Beth was inside the dome-shaped jungle gym, getting her clean clothes dirty. "I told her you were coming. I don't know how much she really gets…"

"Mom! Help! I'm stuck in a big jail!" Beth called. She spotted Puck and her face lit up. "Noah! Hey, Noah! Come save me!"

Jake watched as Puck made his way over, a slow, sad smile on his face. He sat beside Shelby on a bench, hanging back on purpose. "So, she talks a lot, huh?"

"Well, she'll be three in June," Shelby allowed. "But, yeah, she's a little chatterbox. Noah said the New Directions just won Regionals again. Impressive," Shelby said, turning the conversation.

"Yeah, thanks," Jake nodded, unsure of what he should say. Should he talk about Rachel's _Funny Girl_ callback? Would that be too weird? Thankfully he didn't have long to think about it because Puck interrupted them.

"Hey, Jake! Get over here!" he called from on top of the jungle gym.

"Yeah?" Jake asked, grateful for something to do to keep his muscles warm. It was freezing out here. The park was deserted as proof.

"I'm too huge to get in here and rescue my buddy," he said, motioning to Beth down below. "You're our only hope. "Hey, Bethie? This is my little bro, Jake. He'll get you out."

"Dude," Jake hissed. "It's way easier for her to get out than it is for either one of us to get in and get her."

"So? Play with her, all right? It's why we came," Puck encouraged climbing down.

On cue, Beth called out to him. "Little-Bro-Jake, help! The monster's gonna get me!"

Jake raised his eyebrows and cautiously approached the jungle gym, while Puck prowled the outside of the bars and made monster sounds. "…Are you _sure_ you can't get out?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes! These jail bars too strong, okay? So, get me!"

But Jake hesitated. He didn't have brothers or sisters or even cousins. Marley was even an only child. Jake wasn't used to being around kids. Even when he was young, he was more apt to make trouble than to play. He was out of practice. So, he watched his brother for clues. When that was totally unhelpful, Jake thought of the last time he felt like a kid. Free, like that. It had been at dance. Performing. That was kind of like playing, at least for him.

So, he danced uncertainly in her direction, catching her attention and making her laugh when he did his most impressive jump. He skidded to a stop in front of her and talked to her softly.

"I can't get you out either. But I know how _you_ can… Come here. Let me tell you a secret. I'll tell you the magic words that will make the monster nice."

Jake could feel Shelby's eyes on his back as he whispered to her daughter and as Puck continued to circle the jungle gym on all fours now.

"What _is _the magic words?" Beth whispered through the opening in the bars - the opening big enough for her to crawl through - if she wanted.

"I love you," Jake whispered in her ear.

"Monster! Hey, monster! I love you!" Beth shrieked, and Jake jerked back at the shift in volume.

"Hey, Bethie. I love you, too," Puck called, standing up and brushing himself off.

And just like that, Beth ran through the opening and wrapped her arms around Puck's legs.

"Noah, you're all nice again," she said, sounding relieved.

Puck scooped her up and started walking toward Shelby. Beth was looking cold, and it was probably time for them to go soon.

Jake wasn't expecting it when Beth turned to him and said seriously, "Noah is my buddy," and then kissed Puck's cheek.

"That's right. We Skype, don't we?" Puck asked, rubbing his nose against hers, Eskimo kiss style.

"Yeah! We Skype!"

"Hey, Beth? Can Jake be our buddy, too?" Puck asked. "He knows lots of stuff, you know? Could be useful…"

"Like big jumps and magic?" Beth asked seriously.

"You bet."

"Okay! Jake be my buddy, too!" Beth announced. It wasn't even a question. Just fact.

"Thanks, Beth. That's awesome," Jake nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Mom! Noah and Jake is my buddies now!" Beth called.

"Sounds like you're one lucky girl," Shelby smiled.

For sixteen years Jake had only ever had his mom. Now he had all kinds of people. His little sister, his brother, Quinn, Shelby, Rachel, and now, Beth. It wasn't traditional, but they were stuck with each other.

It was more than Jake could have hoped for.

_The End._


	53. Sanctuary

**Summary: **Kurt knits a beautiful christening dress for Beth. Fill for a prompt from the Glee Angst Meme. Allusions through 2x01, "Audition"

**Prompt: **God

It's no secret that Kurt Hummel doesn't believe in God. He never has. But not believing doesn't mean he can't do something nice for someone else, who could really use people on her side right now.

He's not a knitter - _hasn't _knitted in years. Not since his hands were too small and uncoordinated to manage any of the movements his mom patiently tried to teach him. Still, he's determined to learn. So, he enlists the help of Mercedes' grandmother, Miss Hattie, who shows him patiently, humming what sound like old spirituals under her breath. Kurt finds, strangely, that he doesn't mind. Probably because she doesn't push it on him. Probably because it's just a part of her. Probably because she's not afraid to touch him, and never once tries to change him, or make him ashamed.

Kurt likes Miss Hattie. It will be a shame when this project is finished and he won't have a reason to stop by after school anymore.

Lucky for him, Kurt is the slowest knitter in the world. While Miss Hattie knits complicated patterned afghans, Kurt struggles to finish the christening gown. Faith may not be important to him, but it's important to Quinn, and maybe, if she keeps the baby, she'll want her baptized.

In the end, Kurt's too late. Because Quinn gives the baby to Rachel's biological mother. Still, the dress is done, and it would be a shame to not at least give it to Quinn.

So, one day, at the beginning of junior year, when three months have passed since Beth's birth and Quinn is in denial, Kurt approaches her. Stops by her house is more accurate, since there is no way Kurt can casually give Quinn a gift like this in the halls of McKinley. She's still unpredictably emotional and it wouldn't be fair to surprise her with this in public. Instead, he tells his dad he's going out, and drives to Quinn's. She's living here with her mother now.

He knocks, and is stunned when a man answers the door. "Yeah?"

"I'm here for Quinn," Kurt says. The door is closed in his face, and Kurt can hear strained voices behind the polished oak surface. Eventually, Quinn appears.

"What are you doing here?" she demands, arms crossed.

"What's _he _doing here?" Kurt hisses. "I thought you were living with your mom. I thought your mom kicked him out."

"Yeah, well, he keeps dropping by to pick up stuff he forgot. I think it's just an excuse to see us and make me feel like crap about myself.

It doesn't escape Kurt that Quinn has come all the way outside - that he hasn't been invited in - he steps back further. This was probably a bad idea. But he's here.

"This is for you," he says shortly. More impolite than he means for it to sound. He shoves the plastic bag at her. "I made it…well…I _started it_ forever ago. And it's been done for months, but I didn't really know what to do with it since…" he trails off, as Quinn lifts out the tiny white dress.

"Kurt…" she says, her voice thick and intense.

"I know…it's stupid…but I know you're into church and figured - in case you kept her - you might want something to baptize her in…" he rambled.

Quinn looks at him, her eyes full of tears in the fading light. "You made this for her…" she says, her voice low and deliberate.

Kurt nods, and shock runs through him as Quinn wraps her arms around his neck and whispers "thank you" in his ear.

* * *

Back in the house, Quinn's dad demands the Kroger shopping bag. She thinks about stalling. Thinks about pointing out that he doesn't live here anymore. She is still thinking when he rips the bag out of her hand.

This is when the words come.

"You can't do this," she says, her voice carefully controlled. "You don't even _live here_," she insists, glaring at him.

"If I had my way…" he says, looking her in the eye as he tosses the bag, dress and all, into the fireplace, "…neither would you."

Dirty, unspeakable, unspoken words hang in the air. Her dad stands there, in front of the fireplace, forcing her to watch. Then, he mutters under his breath as he walks away. Something terrible about Kurt. Something terrible about Beth.

And because he won't leave, Quinn does.

* * *

"Kurt!" she calls, seeing his car still parked in front of the house. It's like he's waiting for her.

He says nothing. Nods.

She gets in the passenger side, tears streaming down her face.

And then, together, they drive away.

_The End._


	54. Quick Change

**Summary: **Quinn goes into labor while trapped on an elevator with Artie and Tina at Regionals. Fill for a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Allusions to 1x22, "Journey to Regionals."

**Prompt: **Need

It all happened so fast.

They left the stage after _Faithfully_, and everyone rushed down to the basement of the venue to change for their mashup (_Any Way You Want It/Lovin' Touchin' Squeezin'.)_ All except Artie, Tina and Quinn, who had been in pain on and off since the previous night. She'd feel awful, then okay, then awful again. It was like cramps. It wasn't the baby, she told herself stubbornly. The baby wasn't due for another month.

The thing Quinn didn't count on was her baby coming in her own time. Artie and Tina are talking excitedly about the last two numbers. About their solo lines in the final song, when the elevator jars them and then just stops. There is no telltale hum. Nothing.

Quinn and Tina stared at Artie. He was the expert on elevators after all. But his face is just as confused as theirs.

"This has actually never happened to me before," he says, and reaches out to hit the alarm button, which he presses with an irritating frequency. Quinn winced as her abdomen seized up again and then was mortified as a rush of warm wetness ran between her legs. She'd die of embarrassment because the baby was obviously sitting on her bladder.

Only it wasn't. It was way too much to be that, and Quinn stared, horrified. "I'm sorry," she breathed, trying to move out of the way, but there was nowhere to go, and every time she moved, more came out.

"God, is that…" Artie managed, looking pale.

"Tell me my shoes aren't covered in amniotic fluid," Tina managed quietly from between clenched teeth.

Quinn was about to respond when another cramp tightened her swollen belly. The pain was ridiculous and as much as she wanted to, Quinn couldn't keep back the scream. With no grace at all, she was down on the wet elevator floor.

* * *

"Oh, hell no…" Artie whispered. "You are not having this baby in a stalled elevator, Quinn Fabray." He pressed the button on the elevator harder, hoping to bring someone around to help them. But he knew it was pointless. Everyone was in the auditorium or changing or in the audience. No one would find them. It would be up to him and Tina.

Artie froze. He and Tina had no idea how to deliver a baby. Artie didn't know the first thing about labor, how long it took, or what was a good or a bad sign. Plus, he was really, _really _not good with blood.

"Shut up, Artie. Quinn can't help this. It's a natural process…" Tina trailed off as Quinn screamed again.

Artie winced and angled himself toward the panel of numbers on the wall. Better to focus on them than whatever was happening behind him.

* * *

Tina steeled herself and took out her cell phone, praying for a signal. Carefully, she dialed 911 and tried to keep it together. Tina knew without asking that most of this would fall on her shoulders. Artie couldn't stand the sight of blood. She had been to see his reaction when she accidentally cut her finger while slicing vegetables. Artie had hyperventilated, and could not even look in her direction until he was sure that all the blood was gone.

"_This is 911. Do you have an emergency?_"

"Yes! This is T-t-t-ina Cohen-Chang. My friend's in labor and we're stuck in an elevator!" she managed, cursing the fact that she had ever faked a stutter when apparently, stress caused her to develop one for real.

"_Okay. How old is your friend?"_

"S-s-sixteen!"

"_Okay, and this is her first child?"_

"Yes, it is."

"_How old are you, Tina?"_

"Fifteen," she managed, trying to keep it together. But how was she supposed to do that? She was _fifteen_. She couldn't deliver a baby! She was an only child! She didn't know anything about babies. She giggled through the video of a live birth they had to watch in seventh grade, too grossed out to really pay attention. And Artie was freaking out and that freaked _her _out and God, Quinn would not stop screaming. She choked back a sob as she realized that by now, their second song would be done. Mr. Schuester had actually given her and Artie a few words to sing solo a piece and if they didn't get out of here soon, they were going to miss it.

"_Okay, is there anyone else in the elevator with you?"_

"A-a-another friend. He's fifteen, too."

"_How far apart are the contractions?"_

"Quinn? How far apart- She says she doesn't know!" Tina insisted.

She was in the middle of giving their exact location - getting details about which elevator it was from Artie when Quinn ground out the most terrifying words Tina had ever heard.

* * *

"I need to push!"

God, did she need to push. There was so much pressure. Quinn needed to push or she'd explode. She'd already inelegantly struggled out of her nylons and unmentionables, not caring who could see or what they thought. She wanted this baby out, and there was only one way for that to happen.

She was so scared.

Quinn wished her mom was here.

* * *

Artie found himself doing the oddest things. Pressing the alarm button, yes. But also unearthing hand sanitizer and giving it to Tina because this elevator was filthy. Tina had turned the phone on speaker. He could hear every word.

"_Can you see the baby's head?" _the dispatcher asked as Quinn screamed.

"No! Just a-a-a lot of blood! She really needs to push!"

Artie felt woozy and bent forward to put his head between his knees.

* * *

Tina was losing it. This was a nightmare. Twenty-five percent of the New Directions were trapped in an elevator and Quinn was having a baby. Right now. No doctors. No nurses. No hospital. Just her, and a bottle of Purell and a dispatcher God knew how many miles away. Plus, even when help _did _get there, who knew how long it would take for someone to get the elevator working again?

"_Tina, I need you to listen to me, okay? You're going to deliver the baby. I need you to apply firm but gentle pressure to your friend to keep the baby's head from delivering too fast and tearing her. Do you understand?"_

Tina saw stars. She always thought that was just an expression but she actually saw stars. She couldn't do this.

Not until she heard Quinn's voice, begging her, tears streaming down her face.

* * *

"Tina, please!"

Quinn was willing to do anything, _anything_, if it meant the pain and the pressure would stop. If Tina knew something. If Tina could do something that would help, then Quinn wanted it done. She wanted this baby out. She wanted her mom. And Puck should be here, too. But she got these people instead. Artie, who faced the corner, and Tina, who would not lay a hand on Quinn.

Until, finally, she did.

And when the baby came out, Quinn felt completely empty and exhausted, and in pain.

The elevator was still stuck.

* * *

Artie fumbled with the laces on his shoes. His shoes that had so far been spared the trauma of baby juices, but wouldn't any longer, because Tina insisted on having one of Artie's shoelaces to tie off the umbilical cord. She wanted to know if he had anything in his bag to wrap the baby in. So Artie kept busy, removing his shoelace and searching his backpack until he found a small towel he kept on hand for sweat purposes and handed it over. Soon after, the shoelace followed.

Not once, did Artie risk a glance in the direction of the girls, or the crying baby.

* * *

Tina was never more grateful for sewing scissors, which she kept in her purse for emergencies. They would be ruined now, but the important thing was to free the baby from Quinn.

She followed the directions of the dispatcher, and tied off and cut the cord with shaking hands, feeling regret that Puck missed this chance. It was a big deal for dads, or so she'd heard. She cleaned the baby's mouth and nose out and then wrapped her in the towel and held her, feeling completely out of her depth.

Tina was about to hand her off to Quinn when it became obvious that something was wrong.

* * *

The baby wasn't crying anymore. Quinn noticed the second it happened, and though she had no intention of seeing or holding her, it didn't matter. Her mother's instinct was kicking in, and hard.

"What's wrong with her?" Quinn demanded weakly.

* * *

"She's turning blue. What do I do?" Tina asked, her voice strangely in control.

Artie did his best not to listen. Not to imagine the mess just behind him. He pressed the button and used his own cell to leave messages with all the New Directions to let them know that they were stuck and to send help immediately because Quinn had had her baby and they were still trapped.

* * *

Following the dispatcher's instructions, Tina tapped the baby on the back. Thank God, that did the trick.

Shakily, Tina offered the baby to Quinn. "Do you want to hold her?"

"No," Quinn said, her voice thick, as the elevator whirred to life.

And that's how Tina Cohen-Chang emerged from a broken elevator holding a baby that wasn't hers, in a ruined dress and wet shoes. She looked around at the other faces - crushed at having lost the competition - and she just knew that none of them would ever get what it was like to hold someone's life in your hands.

To grow up in the blink of an eye.

_The End._


	55. Sick Day

**Summary: **Jake is sick and Ryder is the only one there to make sure he's okay. Requested by ToxicTopaz. (NOTE: To the Guest who left the previous Jake prompt, I was not comfortable filling it, but ToxicTopaz took it on for you. Be sure to check it out there!)

**Prompt: **Breathing

Jake woke up after a marathon game of Black Ops with Ryder feeling like death. Yesterday's annoying cough had quickly grown into something deep and hacking and gross. His mom was at work, so Jake got up as quietly as possible to go to his room and get stuff to shower. Maybe that would help.

As it turned out, it didn't. Jake crawled into bed and tried to sleep, but ended up hot and achy when Ryder woke up past noon and knocked on the door.

"Dude, go away…" Jake moaned, coughing and feeling short of breath.

"What's wrong with you?" Ryder asked warily, through the closed door.

"No idea," Jake managed, "but you don't want it. Trust me. Go home."

"Are you gonna be all right, though? You said your mom's not coming home 'til tonight."

"I'll be fine," Jake insisted, though he just kept feeling more and more awful.

* * *

Ryder stood outside Jake's bedroom door and thought for a few minutes. Memorial Day weekend was supposed to be awesome. He was supposed to go hang out with some friends and maybe go to a bonfire at Sugar's family's cabin tonight. But with Jake sick like this, it didn't seem right to just leave him.

First, Ryder picked up all the empty bags of Cool Ranch Doritos and Flamin' Hot Cheetos. Rinsed out all the empty Mountain Dew cans and set them on the counter where Tanisha kept the recycling. He rolled his sleeping bag, and took Jake's to the laundry room where he dropped it in front of the washing machine.

He spent a long time washing his hands and thinking. He'd never really taken care of anybody who was sick, but his mom and dad had taken care of him when he was sick. So had his older sister. He was lucky to have lots of family who could take time off work for him. The least he could do was stick around for Jake until Tanisha got home.

Ryder opened the cabinets until he found one stocked with Campbell's soup. He made the chicken noodle in the microwave and found a little TV tray. He loaded it with the soup, a glass of water, and some hot water with honey and lemon since he didn't know how to make actual tea. He added some Tylenol, at the last second.

"Here," he said, flipping on the light and making his way to Jake's bed.

"Dude, I told you," Jake rasped, struggling to sit up and coughing again. "I don't want you getting whatever this is. The soup is nice and whatever, but not necessary. Come on, man, I don't wanna get you sick."

"Then stop complaining," Ryder said matter-of-factly. "Then you can stop breathing on me in the process… Listen, I'm gonna go play more Black Ops if that's not, like, super rude. Yell or something if you need me."

Ryder didn't leave right away, because Jake was looking seriously bad. All sweaty. He wasn't even touching the food.

"At least drink something," Ryder bargained.

Jake groaned, kicking off his blankets and lying there, his face buried in the pillow. "Just get out. I'll feel better if one of us is kicking ass on Black Ops, all right?"

"Fine," Ryder sighed, and got out of the sick room, washing his hands again. He'd always been a little weird about germs.

* * *

Jake fell into a restless sleep and dreamed that he was underwater. When he woke up, he was more congested than before. He'd forced himself to eat and drink everything, and take the medicine, but that didn't mean he felt like he could move or do anything.

He listened and could hear Ryder's quiet voice on the phone in the family room.

"Kitty, I can't help it. Dude, I know. I wanted to go to Sugar's cabin just as much as you but…damn it…no, not you. I just got sneak-attacked in Call of Duty."

Jake made his way slowly to his bedroom door and opened it, hanging onto the doorframe and calling weakly in Ryder's direction. "You can go, you know? You suck as a babysitter anyway…"

"Hold on. He's up," Ryder said into the phone. Then, to Jake, "Yeah, well, you _need _a babysitter. I called your mom and she said she'd make an appointment at the doctor for you and thanked me for staying. What do you think she'd think if I left you by yourself for a day at Sugar's cabin?"

"Damn it," Jake whined. "I really wanted to go to that."

"She'll have another thing when school lets out," Ryder promised. "Now, go back to bed, all right. I'll drop off more water and stuff."

"I gotta pee…all your water and stuff…" Jake grumbled.

"Does it look like I'm stopping you? Jeez…being sick makes you kinda bitchy."

Jake didn't even have the energy for a comeback. He barely had the energy to walk across the hall and take care of business. When he blew his nose, his head felt like it was about to explode, and his ears popped painfully. Still, he risked sticking the ear thermometer in there to make sure he wasn't boiling alive.

He slid down the door, liking the cool bathroom floor better than the heat of his bed.

"Jake? You cool?"

"If a 102 temperature, body aches, a hacking cough and runny nose make me cool, then yeah," Jake managed weakly.

Slowly, the door eased open, and then Ryder was beside him. "Come on. Rest, dude. Your mom will be home in a few hours," he encouraged, helping Jake up from the floor and across the hall again.

It still sucked being sick, but not nearly as much as it would have, if Jake had been alone.

_The End._


	56. Safe

**Summary: **Kurt and Blaine miss curfew and Blaine is afraid to go home. Requested by GleekMom

**Prompt: **Safe

It's four in the morning when Burt hears the front door. He's half-sleeping in his chair in the living room, but keeping in ear cocked. Because when Kurt gets home, he's gonna get an ear full.

Whispers.

Just like that, he flips on the lamp.

"Do you know what time it is?" Burt asks keeping his voice level. He's exhausted, and has to be up in two hours to open the shop.

"Dad, we-" Kurt begins, and Burt cuts him off.

"When's your curfew?"

"Ten o'clock. But Dad, it's-" Kurt starts again.

"You are six hours late! What the hell were you two doing?"

"Mr. Hummel, it's my fault," Blaine speaks up, and for the first time Burt really gets a look at him. He's pale and his eyes are darting. "I got a text from Puck asking if we wanted to get together with some of the guys and watch _Braveheart._ I said yes. It's my fault."

"You got a text to watch a movie and it just now got done?" But asks evenly. He eyes both kids. "You think I was born yesterday?"

"No, sir. We just… We knew we'd be a little late and we were planning to text and let you know, but we fell asleep, and…"

"You fell asleep."

"Yes, sir."

He takes a deep breath, knowing his heart doesn't need more stress. Calmly, he looks at Kurt. "You are grounded. Blaine, go home. You two won't be seeing each other for a while."

For once, Kurt doesn't say anything. Just nods. Squeezes Blaine's hand.

Then, Blaine turns and heads toward the door.

* * *

After giving Kurt a long and serious talk about being responsible, Burt walks through the house, pausing at the front door to lock the deadbolt. A quick glance out the front window, and Burt does a double-take.

Blaine's car is still in the driveway. Blaine is sitting on the front step.

Quietly, Burt steps outside and sits down next to him.

Looking out at the street, his voice calm, Blaine says, "I'm sorry, sir. I can't go home. My parents…they'll kill me."

There's something in Blaine's tone that makes Burt take note. That makes him stop and listen. Not just laugh off the statement as typical teen angst.

"Actually, that's a bit of an exaggeration…" Blaine amends. "They'll just make me feel terrible about myself…and…"

"And?" Burt prompts.

"Nothing, sir." Blaine ducks his head.

Burt waits.

"It was an accident," Blaine says, his voice shaking a little. "I swear, Mr. Hummel. It was a room full of us. Puck, Finn, Mike, and Sam…and Kurt and me. We just fell asleep. It wasn't intentional, I swear."

For some reason, Burt believes it now. "Yeah, I get it. Just steer clear of Kurt for a couple weeks, and we'll start again. All right? No harm, no foul."

"I can't go home," Blaine says again.

There it is. The cold truth. He's not saying he doesn't want to. He's saying he can't.

"Why not?"

"I'm scared."

Slowly, Burt reaches out, and puts a hand on Blaine's shoulder. "They're really hurting you, aren't they?"

Blaine shakes his head, like he's coming out of a daze. "Not physically. It's fine. You know what? I'll be fine. I'll go."

Blaine stands, and Burt stands with him. "We'll go together."

* * *

In the car, Burt drives. Blaine seems too shaken up for it. And something about the conversation with him has been like a shot of adrenaline. He knows a hurting kid when he sees one. He's not about to send him into the lion's den alone.

"Listen, Blaine. When you kids came in late, was I ticked off? You better believe it. I don't like it when my kid and his boyfriend do careless crap. But I would never hurt Kurt. And I would never hurt you. And listen. Pain doesn't have to be physical to make an impact. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll come in and talk to your parents with you."

"Thank you, sir."

"You can call me Burt, you know?"

"I know, sir."

* * *

Burt stands on the doorstep of the Anderson home, just behind Blaine, his hands in his pockets. He's not prepared when the door's jerked open - when Blaine's pulled roughly with a rush of angry words, so similar to Burt's own, and yet, not similar at all. The door's left open. Burt's not even noticed. Everything happens to quick for him to interject.

"Where the hell have you been? Do you _know _it's four-thirty in the morning? How stupid do you have to be to not be able to tell the damn time? Well? Answer me!"

Things are heated. Burt senses rather than sees that they'll escalate fast, so he steps inside. Announces his presence.

"Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, I'm Burt Hummel. Kurt's father," he extends a hand, hoping to appeal to manners. They seem like high-class people, people for whom appearance matters. He hopes like hell this works.

A hand is stiffly extended. "Mr. Hummel. Thank you for bringing Blaine home. I know you can appreciate that this sort of thing is a family matter."

"I can," Burt answers shortly. "I can also appreciate that this kid was scared to death to come home tonight. And I'm not leaving until I know for sure he's safe."

Blaine's father smiles. It's genial. The kind of smile that's probably smoothed over both big and small problems. Then he says two words that piss Burt off. "Blaine exaggerates."

"I believe him."

Some of the fake sincerity falls away, and Mr. Anderson eyes Burt. "You're telling me that it's perfectly acceptable for your son to run around until all hours of the night, breaking curfew and doing God-knows-what?" he asks evenly.

"Absolutely not. Kurt's grounded. I spoke to him myself about responsibility. He knows what he did was wrong. "

"You raise your son your way, and we'll raise ours the way we see fit. Now if you'll excuse us."

Burt crosses his arms. Blaine's still standing there, his eyes full of alarm. He shakes his head slightly, and Burt shakes his in return. He's not about to leave Blaine in this kind of situation.

For a while, he and Mr. Anderson are in a standoff. Burt finally takes a step forward. "You wanna intimidate someone? Why don't you try me? How's it feel to have someone right up in your face? Not real good, does it? What if that person was your dad? Or your mother? You think you'd feel okay if every time you screwed up you were called names? Put down by the people who were supposed to love you?"

They stare a second longer. Finally, Mr. Anderson takes a step back. "I'm going to bed. Blaine, I'll deal with you in the morning." Mrs. Anderson follows, and it's only now that Burt realizes she hasn't said anything at all.

* * *

When they're alone, Burt approaches Blaine. Puts a hand on his shoulder. "This is my number," he says, tucking a piece of paper into his hand, ignoring the little voice that sounded like Kurt, telling him he's so out of touch. "You need anything, you call me."

"Even while Kurt's grounded?" he questions softly.

"Anytime," Burt repeats.

_The End._


	57. A Penny For Your Thoughts

**Summary: **Quinn gets an unexpected gift from Brittany while she's recovering in the hospital after her car crash. Characters requested by bobina.

**Prompt: **Penny

It's been two weeks. Two weeks since Quinn was rushing to Rachel and Finn's wedding, and the unthinkable happened. Her progress has been agonizingly slow. Her mom works during the day, and her dad hasn't been here at all. Other than that, very few people visit. The ones who do are not the ones Quinn expects.

Joe. Mercedes. Sam.

Brittany.

Santana had been expected. She was there when Quinn first woke up. She still calls every day during lunch. And has come by twice - that may not sound like much - but most visitors, once they show their face, once they see her like this, they don't come back. Joe, Mercedes and Sam had been like that. Coming in a small group, trying to pretend it didn't get to them when she winced or cried out in pain. They'd tried to be strong for her. But once, just one time, Quinn would have loved it if someone were willing to be weak with her.

Yes, she's paralyzed, but that doesn't mean she can't feel pain. Pain is everywhere. Her constant companion since her left side was crushed by that truck. Her left ear rings off and on, healing broken ribs make it hard to breathe and that leaves her anxious. Her left hip has a rod and several screws in it. And that's not even counting the back injury, which makes burning pain spread down her back, and into her backside, legs and feet.

With this level of injury, she should be grateful anyone comes at all. Most send cards. Fewer call.

It's why she doesn't expect to see Brittany, who's been weird about hospitals since Quinn can remember.

Maybe it's because she's been moved to a rehabilitation facility? Quinn really doesn't know. Needless to say, when Brittany shows up, Quinn doesn't expect it.

She's up. Gritting her teeth through sitting in a chair for the appropriate amount of time, even though all she wants to do is sleep. Rehab is exhausting.

"Hey," Brittany says.

She's quieter than the Cheerios who came last week, and used the time to loudly gossip about who was at the bottom of the pyramid, and why. They totally ignored Quinn's gritted teeth, the way she clutched the blankets, and blinked back the tears in her eyes, until she couldn't anymore. Then they had all left.

"Hey," Quinn manages weakly, wincing.

"It hurts, huh?" Brittany asks rhetorically.

"Yeah," Quinn gasps. She's surprised when Brittany pulls another chair opposite her. When she reaches out, and gently takes her right hand in both of Brittany's own.

"You don't have to talk. If you want, _I_ can talk." She doesn't wait for a response. "Um…St. Patrick's Day is coming up. And even though I know that Rory isn't a leprechaun, I still want him to dress like one next Saturday. Mostly, because I think he'd look great in green top hat."

Quinn tries to smile. She's pretty sure it comes out like a grimace. Brittany falls quiet, rubbing her thumb gently over the back of Quinn's hand. "Try to relax," she encourages softly.

"How…" Quinn gasps. How can I...relax...when not one person outside the God Squad…and the Cheerios…have come to visit? How…can I relax…when I know…I don't even matter enough for…people to just…come…and _be here_ with me…"

"But, honey, _I am here_," Brittany insists quietly. "And Santana's here, too, whenever she can be. I ditched Cheerios practice to come here…she'll ditch next time. We can't both skip or Coach Sue will know something's up…but we're thinking of you. Believe that."

"I can't…" Quinn whimpers, all her resolve crumbling. These twenty minutes upright in a chair fourteen _days_ after a car accident have got to be what hell feels like. She white-knuckles Brittany's hand, and Brittany doesn't even flinch. She just reaches down beside her chair with her other hand, where she'd set her purse when she'd come in.

"Well," Brittany says in that quiet way. "Here's proof then," she says, pulling something out and setting it on the table for Quinn to see.

"What…_is_ that?" Quinn gasps. She's not in the mood for guessing games.

"Oh. A penny for your thoughts," Britt says, as if it's obvious.

"That's…more than one…" Quinn managed.

"It's 1,300," Brittany says, matter-of-factly. "You know how whenever I pray I fall asleep?"

Quinn nods.

"Plus, prayers are invisible. But if a penny equals a thought? I mean, that makes sense to me. So, I started putting a penny in here whenever I thought of you. Whenever I hoped you were feeling better. Hoped you were sleeping. Or when I had a dream that you were a flying, fire-breathing dragon, who could dance. Then, I took the jar to the choir room, with a post it note on it, and everybody started adding to it. This is like proof, when you think that no one's thinking of you…we are. We just don't always know the right things to say."

"Oh…" Quinn breathes.

"So…I've got to go…but I'll leave these here. One-hundred thoughts from each of us. Don't doubt our love, okay?" Brittany asks, kissing her forehead gently.

"Yeah…" Quinn sighs, finally able to breathe a little easier. "Okay."

_The End._


	58. Gardeners

**Summary: **Santana is volunteering at Lima Memorial, in the children's garden, when she spots a familiar face in Blaine Anderson, who has come to help out as well. (Can be read as a sequel to "X") Requested by Anonymous.

**Prompt: **Potatoes

It's a pain being out here in a garden of all places, but Santana thinks it might be worth it. For one thing - the _main _thing - the looks on the kids' faces when she pulls up carrots, beans, onions, and even the odd potato. It's like magic to them, because, above-ground, it looks like nothing. Just a bunch of green.

Plus, it turns out? Kids really do like to eat what they grow.

She makes a big show of unearthing a potato. She looks toward the patio where she can see half a dozen little kids sitting under and umbrella. They're smiling - and God - _clapping_. Santana tries to keep busy. Tries not to blush. She isn't doing any big thing here. Just volunteering like she has since last year.

Only last year, she hadn't been working in a damn _garden. _Last year, she'd gotten to enjoy her time holding babies without so many people watching her. It's one thing to be ogled in a Cheerios uniform, but it's another when you're in uniform, in the dirt, digging up vegetables.

"Hey."

The voice startles her so badly she uproots a carrot and almost topples backward. The kids on the patio giggle. They think it's a show. Well, if it makes them smile, Santana guesses it's okay by her.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." A hand is in front of her, but the sun is in her eyes and she can't make anyone out. The voice, though, it's familiar.

"Blaine…Anderson?" he continues, sounding a little hurt that she doesn't remember.

"What are you doing here? And seriously? What's up with the hat?" Blaine's got this wide-brimmed straw hat look going on, and for the record? He's not rocking it at all.

"My mom asked me to come help out today in the children's garden. She's a pediatric nurse. Takes care of the babies."

"No way…" Santana breathes. "Your _mom _works there? I held babies there all the time last year…and this year…" she admits. "My dad's a doctor, but like, at an office, not here."

"Oh." Blaine nodded adding onions to his basket.

"Seriously."

"Seriously, what?" he asks, looking way too confused.

"The _hat_, Anderson. You look like someone's elderly great aunt," she snaps under her breath.

"It keeps the sun off me," he argues softly.

"Like you need to worry about a sunburn."

"Okay, fine. The kids like it. They said I should wear it, so I look like a real gardener. So, I'm wearing it." He pauses, meeting her eyes for a second. "It makes them happy, okay?"

"Yeah…" she says smiling a little. "Yeah, okay." She stands up deliberately, bringing a full basket over to the table for the kids to inspect. They're not super-enthusiastic and why would they be? They're in the hospital. They're uncomfortable. They're sick. But being outside has got to be nice. A change of scenery at least.

Out of the corner of her eye, Santana can see Blaine watching her curiously. She taps one nurse on the shoulder, and asks, loud enough for all the kids to hear. "Hey, you know, I don't think I look enough like a _real gardener_, what do you guys think?"

Their faces break into tired smiles. There are a few "no's."

She makes a big show of looking around, and then asks loud enough for Blaine to hear. "What I really need is a hat. A good, broad-brimmed straw hat? Anybody got any extras?"

Just like that, one of the nurses puts a hat in her hands, and Santana puts it on, and walks proudly back out to the garden, to work side by side with Blaine.

They make a great team. Funny hats and all.

_The End._


	59. Confusion

**Summary: **Kitty doesn't understand why she was hurt, and she doesn't understand why Ryder's ignoring her…not after she shared her secret with him. Allusions to 4x20 "Lights Out." WARNING: Allusions to sexual abuse. Requested by: Anonymous.

**Prompt: **Confusion

It's harder to concentrate after she tells Ryder.

For a while - for years - Kitty could pretend everything was okay. She just, kind of, went somewhere else in her head. It was like the first time. When she finally told her parents last year.

They listened. They sort of believed her. And then her mom called Julie's mom and talked about how good of a kid _Justin_ was. That was when Kitty knew. She was pretty much on her own with this.

But that was just the beginning. Like she told Ryder, Julie started telling everyone at school she was spreading rumors about Justin. She told Ryder that Julie convinced all of Kitty's friends to stop talking to her. She didn't tell Ryder that she went to a Christian school. That everybody shunned Kitty because they said she broke God's law about sex. Sex before marriage was a sin. Gossip was a sin. Kitty knew she was pretty much going to hell.

She didn't tell Ryder that Justin was an upstanding member in the church.

She didn't tell him about the time last year when Kitty saw Justin leering at her nine-year-old sister in a way that Kitty could not explain but wholly understood. She didn't tell Ryder that it was that moment when Kitty knew she had to get them out of there. All she told Ryder was that she somehow convinced her parents she needed a fresh start, even if it meant public high school.

So, she's here now, and Ryder's the only other person she's ever met who gets what it's like. All these years, and she thought she was alone. Alone in feeling dirty, and different, and like she has to protect herself, because she knows from experience that no one else will do it for her.

But when she asks Ryder to go out for subs, and he rejects her, too, Kitty doesn't know what to do. She kind of goes numb. It's lunch, but she isn't hungry, so instead, she wanders around the halls. No one stops her because of the uniform. Being a Cheerio does have its advantages.

She finds herself lurking kind of creepily outside Miss Pillsbury's office. No one's seen much of her since the failed wedding in February. Even though they could have totally used her two weeks ago during the lockdown, after they heard those gunshots. Kitty holds resentment around her like a shield, and walks in, her arms crossed.

"Kitty. What can I do for you?" Miss Pillsbury asks.

"So, you decided to put in an appearance?" Kitty asks coolly.

"I'm sorry?"

"I get that you had to take about a billion sad days since almost marrying Mr. Schuester, but how are _we _supposed to keep our crap together, when you can't even do it?"

"Taking time for yourself is a good thing. It's very healthy. More than pushing through whatever's making us sad," Miss Pillsbury says.

"Yeah, well, are you back then? Or are you gonna take more personal time?" Kitty scoffs.

"Nope, I'm back for the foreseeable future."

"Fine."

"Now, what can I help you with?"

Kitty bites her lip, feeling nervous all of a sudden. What is she doing in here? She's got a pretty crappy track record with this secret. Parents who kind of believe her but take Justin's side and a guy who she thought she could relate to, who would rather hang out with an imaginary girl than with her. It doesn't make sense to talk about it, but if she can't talk to her parents, and she can't talk to Ryder, and she definitely can't talk to God…Miss Pillsbury is pretty much the only option Kitty has left. So she sits down hesitantly.

"When I was younger…this guy…he did things to me at a sleepover. I didn't tell my parents until last year… When I told them it happened in sixth grade, they didn't know why I waited so long to say anything, but I just wanted to forget it ever happened…and for a while I could."

There is sympathy in Miss Pillsbury's eyes, and Kitty doesn't want to cry, so she looks away.

"They sent me to talk to the pastor at my church. They told him what happened. So he told me to turn to God and pray. That I was dark but lovely…it's a Biblical reference. But all I wanted…all I've _ever_ wanted since that night…is just to feel _clean_. And I can't. And if God can do anything why won't he help me? Why did God protect Justin and not me? Am I _that _bad of a person?" Kitty manages, her throat thick with tears.

"No." Miss Pillsbury says quietly. "First, I am so sorry that happened to you," she says offering Kitty a tissue. "And secondly, I'm no Biblical scholar, so I don't have all the answers. But I do have some."

Kitty glances up, hesitant. _Some _is the best she's gotten in five years.

"What happened to you was not your fault. You were touched without your consent and that is never okay. Justin is to blame, not you. He's the aggressor. You're the survivor. And you _should have been_ protected, absolutely."

"Why wasn't I, then?" Kitty snaps, through tears.

"I don't know," Miss Pillsbury says honestly, seeming shaken and pissed off in a way Kitty kind of admires. "Incompetence. Arrogance. Neglect. But those are weak excuses at best. You deserve to be believed. Fully believed. Not made to feel like you were in the wrong here, because you weren't. You were a child. I don't have the first clue why you weren't protected, but you're about to be."

Kitty glances up sharply, having seen Miss Pillsbury move out of the corner of her eye. She relaxes when she sees her guidance counselor has a paper and pen in front of her.

"I need Justin's last name."

Kitty tenses. Then thinks of Bristol, almost the same age now as Kitty was then. It's this and nothing else that gives her courage.

So she opens her mouth, and speaks.

_The End._


	60. Patch

**Summary: **Sam & Stevie go visit Blaine as pirates while he recovers from his scratched cornea. Character of Sam requested by bobina.

**Prompt: **Patch

Sam gets the call one night while he's working on homework at Burt and Carole's kitchen table. It's easier to concentrate out there, plus, one of them, or Kurt or Finn is always around if Sam has a question. His phone rings, and Sam picks it up even though Carole raises an eyebrow at him.

He knows what that means. His mom is a pro at that look. But the screen says "Home" and he can't ignore a call from there.

"Hello?"

"Sam," his mom says. She sounds really worried.

"Mom. What's up?" he asks, forgetting all about Intermediate Algebra II and concentrating on her. "Are you guys okay?"

"Stevie's…been struggling," she says. "His school work's been slipping. When we asked what was wrong, he shrugged…but he's been waking up every morning this week very upset. Finally, we managed to get it out of him. He misses you. Do you think you could talk to him on the phone a couple times a week? Really make it a priority, Sam. He's not even seven yet. He doesn't understand what's happening. Leaving Tennessee, Ohio, losing the house, now Kentucky, and now you left."

"Thought he'd be used to me not being there…" Sam ventured. "I mean, I lived away from home in Tennessee. Boarding school. That was way longer than a couple months. He did okay then."

"Right, but, honey, things were easier then. He'd lived in the same place his entire life, and he knew that you'd be back. Now, he doesn't know that. Please, can you do this for your brother?"

Sam feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to see Carole with a questioning look on her face. "What is it?" she asks.

"Uh…my little brother…he misses me, I guess…"

"We'd love to have him visit," Carole offers.

Sam raises his eyebrows. "I could just, like, call him more often. I don't want to put you guys out. I mean, I already really appreciate what you're doing for me."

"I don't wanna hear it," Burt puts in, and Sam jumps. He hadn't even thought Burt had been listening from his chair in the living room where he was watching a rerun of Deadliest Catch. "We'd love to have him. We can drive to get him or meet your folks halfway…what's about halfway to Kentucky, Carole?"

"Cincinnati?" Carole volunteers.

"That's right. That's what I thought," Burt insists, looking proud of himself.

"Can I talk to your mom, Sam?" Carole asks, motioning for the phone.

Wordlessly, he hands it over, shocked when he hears her say warmly, "Hi Mary, it's Carole. Burt and I would love to have Stevie here to visit sometime…"

* * *

It all happens so fast. Two weeks later, Sam is driving two hours out to Cincinnati to meet his mom and Stevie. A lot's happened since then. Mr. Schuester proposed to Miss Pillsbury in the pool. Sam joins synchronized swimming in hopes that the letter jacket will impress Mercedes. But all of that pales in comparison with Blaine, taking a rock salt slushie to the face to protect Kurt. Sam hasn't been that thrilled about Blaine, but anyone who steps up for Kurt is cool in Sam's book.

For now, though, he focuses on Stevie. He says a quick hi to his mom. Offers to buy her an ice cream at Coldstone, where they meet up in the parking lot. She says no thanks, but hugs him long and hard. Leaves Stevie with his backpack, and Sam with Stevie's sleeping bag, and then they're alone. And then, Sam understands.

The minute they're inside Coldstone and have their ice cream - Sam has Coffee Lovers Only and Stevie has Delicious Dirt - Stevie asks, "Do you love me?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course, I love you," Sam answers, taking a bite of ice cream and feeling unnerved.

This question, though, seems to be lodged in Stevie's head the same way comic books and movies, and impressions get stuck in his. He must ask it 20 more times on the drive back to Burt and Carole's. Sam doesn't know what to say. He's not great with words. But he keeps saying yes, hoping it will sink in.

Stevie runs around Burt and Carole's happy to see a couple more familiar faces from Glee club. He vaguely remembers Finn from when he stopped at the motel last year with Rachel, and he knows Kurt's in glee, too. They sit down to dinner, and Stevie's antsy. He can't sit still. He can't stop asking Sam, over and over. It's kind of embarrassing, especially in front of Burt and Carole, and Kurt and Finn at Friday night family dinner.

"Do you love me, Sam?" Stevie asks, taking a bite of corn on the cob. He sounds so serious when he says it. Like, he honestly doesn't know the answer.

"Stevie, yes, all right? I love you. Can you sit still now and eat?"

Burt and Carole try to engage Stevie in conversation, but it's kind of hopeless. He keeps talking to Sam. And when dinner's over, he follows him everywhere. Even hanging out outside the bathroom while Sam uses it. He tries not to get annoyed. But if this is how things are gonna go, it's gonna be a long weekend.

They're watching _Hook_ that night, Stevie practically in Sam's lap on the floor, while Burt, Carole and Kurt sit on the couch, and Finn sits in a chair. Sam's mind keeps wandering, though. Obviously, just hanging out, doing day to day things with Stevie isn't going to cut it. He needs to make this time special. No matter how frustrating his little brother can be. The problem is, he has no idea how to do that. It's been a long time since he was six.

"We should watch _every _pirate movie," Stevie confides in a whisper, bored as Maggie starts singing on screen.

"That'd be cool, huh?" Sam asks.

* * *

That night, Sam tosses and turns in Stevie's sleeping bag while Stevie won't shut up from Sam's bed in the guest room.

"I can't get comfortable…"

"Well, try…"

"I _am_ but it's not working…" Stevie's voice breaks. "I miss mom and dad…and when I'm with them…I miss _you_…it's not fair how you left me behind. It's like in _Lilo & Stitch_," he sniffles. "_Ohana means family…_"

Realization dawns as Sam finishes the quote: "…_and family means no one gets left behind or forgotten_."

"Hey, buddy…" Sam says, unzipping the sleeping bag and climbing into bed next to Stevie. "I didn't forget you, I promise. You're the only brother I've got."

"What about Kurt and Finn?" Stevie asks, into the fabric of Sam's tee shirt.

"Well, they have each other. And you've got me," Sam explains, rubbing Stevie's back. "And, hey, listen, I know you miss mom and dad, but you'll be home in, like, two days. And in the meantime, we're gonna do lots of stuff together, okay?"

"Like what?"

"Well, I was thinking, tomorrow morning we could make a treasure map, and then watch the best pirate movie ever."

"_Muppet Treasure Island_?" Stevie asks, perking up a little.

"Uh, no…not exactly. See, this is a kind of grown up movie. It's meant for teenagers. So, it's kinda good you're here with me, because, you know, I don't think Mom and Dad would let you watch it." Sam says, dragging it out a little, making it sound real mysterious.

"Really?" Stevie asks, in awe.

"Yeah. It's called _The Goonies_ and it's about this group of kids who go on a real live treasure hunt to help their parents save their houses." Sam says. (Wow. Until now, he hasn't realized just how close to home this one will hit for both himself and Stevie. But hopefully, watching some kids, somewhere that are able to do something to help their family will be good. For both of them.)

"Do people come and take their houses like people took ours?" Stevie wonders.

"No, because the kids go on that treasure hunt. They're too busy to worry about grown-ups. Well, except the bad guys…"

"Is it a cartoon?" Stevie yawns.

"Nope. It's real. And Burt and Carole, Kurt and Finn will all be working tomorrow, so it'll just be you and me. How does that sound?"

"Great…"

"And after that, we can go to the dollar store and get some pirate stuff. Eye patches and pirate hats. Maybe swords if they have them. And then maybe visit a friend who has to wear an eye patch like a real pirate."

"_Really_?" Stevie asks. He sounds more impressed at the prospect of meeting Blaine than he does at watching _The Goonies_ or going dollar tree shopping, or making a treasure map, for that matter.

Stevie falls asleep to Sam describing all the things they'll do together, hoping that to Stevie, they sound a lot like love.

* * *

The next morning, Stevie's awake at 8 a.m. which is early for Sam, but also okay, because it means Burt, Kurt and Finn are already at the tire shop and Carole's on her way out, now. Sam rolls Stevie's sleeping bag and helps him make the bed. They take turns getting dressed in the bathroom and head downstairs where Carole is setting a pan of sticky buns and two cups of hot chocolate out.

"Hey, I thought I heard you two moving around," she greets. "Breakfast is here when you want it."

"Thanks, Carole," Sam says.

"Yeah, thanks Carole," Stevie echoes, the big smile Sam remembers spreading back on his face. "Hey Carole, guess what? Me and Sam are having a pirate day!"

"That sounds great! Well, you two have fun! Call if you need something, all right, Sam?"

"Thanks," he says again. They take their time eating breakfast and then they make the map using a technique Sam learned online. It involved wrinkling white construction paper, dipping it in coffee and drying it with a hairdryer, before drawing all _The Goonies_ landmarks. Even without having seen the movie, Stevie got a kick out of it.

And when they watched it together, seeing Stevie's eyes get big, or hearing him giggle made it all worth it.

"That," he says, "was the best movie I've ever seen. And you're right. I could never watch that with mom and dad. There were _a lot _of bad words," Stevie points out, looking sort of scandalized but happy at the same time.

"So…you wanna go get pirate stuff so we can visit Blaine?"

"Yeah! …Blaine's not a very good pirate name…" Stevie observes.

"You're right…we'll have to fix that, won't we?" Sam says, taking Stevie's hand as they walk to the car.

* * *

About twenty minutes later, Sam and Stevie show up at the Anderson home. They're let in by Blaine's mom who gives them a slow smile and a nod. Sam knows it's probably because she doesn't often see a sixteen-year-old with his six-year-old brother, both dressed in eye-patches, and black magic marker beards, and carrying plastic swards.

"I'll tell Blaine some…pirates are here to see him…" she disappears and then is back nodding at them. "Go on back. Just keep the lights low. Better for his eye."

"Better for _our _eyes, too. We don't like light, right?" Stevie asks, looking at Sam. "_Pirates_ like it dark, so that makes sense, doesn't it?"

Sam nods and leads the way to Blaine's room, cracking the door a little, to see Blaine sitting up in bed. Satisfied that Blaine is awake, Sam barges into the room, growling like a pirate.

"Argh! Bernard the Hatless I missed yer ugly face!" Sam exclaims.

"Excuse me?" Blaine asks, confused.

"Don't play dumb now! It's yer mates Nigel Skullcrack and Noseless Bud Slaughter," he says motioning to himself and Stevie.

"Oh!" Blaine manages in a weak attempt at a grunt. "Right! The eye, you know, not so good after the…um…"

"Crocodile?" Stevie asks excitedly.

"Right. The crocodile," Blaine grumbles sounding more like a pirate now.

"Did _you_ know One-Eyed Willie?" Stevie asks, in awe, naming the pirate from _The Goonies_.

Blaine looks to Sam, who nods slightly.

"Of course, of course!" Blaine nods, making his voice husky and his words a little slurred. Sam wonders if it's the pain pills or Blaine's commitment to playing pirate. Either one is awesome as far as Sam's concerned.

"Well, we just wanted to come by and tell ye, we haven't found the treasure.." Sam grumbled, in his own gruff pirate voice.

"_Yet_," Stevie put in. "But we will, won't we?"

"Even if it takes all of our lives, kiddo." Sam says.

"Thanks for, uh, stopping by. I gotta rest my good eye now," Blaine grumbles, trying to keep a smile off his face.

Sam turns to go, when Stevie runs to Blaine's bedside all the sudden.

"Here," he says, thrusting the plastic sword in Blaine's hand. "In case the crocodile comes back. That way, you'll be protected."

* * *

"That was a real brave thing you did, giving up your sword to Blaine," Sam said that night, lying beside Stevie on his last night in Lima.

"Sam. You _know_ your friend's not a _real _pirate, right?" Stevie says seriously.

"Yeah, I know, but it was fun to pretend, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was," Stevie echoes, his hand in Sam's own.

* * *

Sunday morning, there is no time for anything but a quick breakfast, packing and getting on the road. Before they go, Sam tucks the treasure map in with Stevie's stuff and hands him his own plastic pirate sword.

Despite his own words last night, Stevie's eyes light up.

"For the crocodiles," Sam says, ruffling his hair.

Stevie doesn't say anything, just hugs Sam tightly. Then, they get in the car, and drive toward Kentucky.

_The End._


	61. Harm

**Summary: **Santana suffers a sudden medical emergency and it's up to Rachel to help figure out what's gone wrong. Character of Santana and general idea requested by: Anonymous. Post 4x19 "Sweet Dreams"

**Prompt: **Harm

Santana stumbles in at just past three in the morning. She feels disgusting after hours of being groped, but it pays the bills, and she really does like the dancing part. All she wants now, though, is food, a shower and some sleep. She opens the fridge but there's nothing there that she wants to eat. Healthy crap, mostly. She had enough of that in high school.

She closes the fridge and turns to the kitchen table, and finds a plate of cookies covered in plastic wrap labeled with a post-it in Kurt's handwriting:

_Have these, and for the love of god, be quiet when you come in tonight._

Santana uncovers the cookies and sleepily takes a bite. God, these taste good. They're homemade, too. Not sliced, pre-made dough. If she weren't so exhausted, and if Kurt didn't sleep super hard on Ambien, Santana would wake him up and thank him for the only decent food she's had all night.

She's in the shower, when she begins to feel like something isn't right. Her mouth starts to feel all weird, like she needs a drink. She manages to get out of the shower and throw on pajamas before the burning in her mouth gets unbearable. She tries drinking water from her cupped hands from the tap in the bathroom, but it's no good. She can't swallow, and it's getting hard to breathe.

Stumbling out of the bathroom, Santana sees Rachel in the hall.

"Santana?" she asks sleepily. She blinks. "Are you all right?"

"I can't breathe…"

"Are you hurt?" Rachel asks coming closer and seeming to startle into alertness.

"What is happening to me?" Santana gasps.

* * *

"Come here. Sit down," Rachel urges. She hadn't been fully awake a minute ago, but she is now. She awakened when Santana had arrived home and tried to go back to sleep, but hearing loud, unfamiliar sounds of her friend stumbling around raised Rachel's sense of alarm. She left Colin behind in her warm bed, fully expecting to return and cuddle with her pillow after telling Santana to be quiet.

But things aren't working out that way. Santana's swelling up, and struggling to get air. Rachel's never seen anything like this before. She knows she has to think quickly. Because she doesn't see another option, Rachel picks up the phone and dials 911. Santana's sitting stiffly, white-knuckling the kitchen chair beneath her. She starts to vomit just as the call connects.

Cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder, and clasping one of Santana's ice cold hands in her own, Rachel manages to pull the garbage can closer to them, but it's too late. The mess is everywhere, and the dispatcher's asking for the nature of their emergency.

Rachel finds she doesn't know what to say. "My roommate…she's having trouble breathing. She doesn't know what's happening to her," she says, passing on everything Santana had managed to say before talking had become impossible. She listens and lists the other symptoms she sees: the facial swelling, the vomiting.

"Try to slow your breathing down…" Rachel urges, masking her panic with a calm, in control voice she remembered perfecting as a child when she'd played Mary Poppins in her elementary school production. She follows the dispatcher's directions to the letter, feeling like this is a nightmare. That this has to end sometime. The ambulance has to get here.

"Rach…I can't…I'm not…gonna make it… Please…help me…" Santana begs. Rachel hears sirens just as Santana's body goes stiff and she collapses, falling forward.

Rachel catches her because there isn't another option.

* * *

Kurt wakes to a pounding on the door of their apartment.

_We're being robbed, _is his first and last thought before he hears official sounding voices, and words like _allergic reaction_, _hospital_, _epinephrine_ and _Benadryl._

Cautiously he gets out of bed and pulls the privacy curtain aside. Rachel or Santana? Either one would be devastating. Both are his roommates. What happened? His tired brain won't answer questions, and he's terrified to venture out to the heart of the action.

When the door closes abruptly, Kurt moves, finally, numbly, to the kitchen, where he begins to clean up the mess left behind. He finds evidence: cookies gone from a plate in the kitchen, her phone on the table and a disgusting mess on the floor. Santana's uniform discarded in the bathroom.

No evidence of Rachel, but she's not in her room. Her phone is gone. Half an hour later, Kurt's phone chimes with a message.

_From Rachel: with Santana at the ER._

* * *

"Santana? Santana, it's Rachel. You're okay. Listen to me, you're going to be all right now…"

For a second, Santana's sure she's got to be dreaming, but if Rachel's here that can't be true. She never dreams of Rachel. Brittany, maybe…Quinn once or twice…but not Rachel.

She struggles to turn her head, and focus her eyes which are blurry. She sees a rough shape that could be Berry, and feels a hand at her own forehead, smoothing her hair back. Searching, she finally finds Rachel's hand and grips it tightly.

* * *

What Santana says, or tries to say gets muffled in the oxygen mask. It takes three times before Rachel can make out the "thank you." The one Santana repeats again and again until Rachel confirms she's understood, and urges her friend to rest.

* * *

When they get home, the apartment is clean, and Kurt is sitting nervously at the table. Santana knows she still looks like crap. Really swollen. And she knows she'll have to endure allergy testing sooner rather than later, but right now, all she wants to do is sleep.

"What's in the cookies?" Rachel asks plainly, as soon as Santana's out of earshot. Rachel knows she would have asked herself if she were more awake, but Rachel's not about to have a repeat of what just happened.

"The usual stuff…" Kurt answers slowly. "Why?"

"They asked her at the hospital what she ate just before the reaction started. She mentioned your cookies."

"Well, it's not like I tried to _poison _her. It's typical stuff. Flour sugar, butter…"

"Nuts?" Rachel asks, remembering a castmate in her Mary Poppins play who had to sit at a separate table at the cast party to keep her safe from exposure to peanut butter.

"Yeah, walnuts. Why, is that a crime?" he asks, irritable.

"No, it's just…some people are really allergic," Rachel tries gently.

"Well then _some people _should tell their roommates before they have some kind of crazy reaction…"

Rachel reaches out and covers his hand with her own. "Santana didn't know, Kurt. Sometimes allergies just…start…for no reason at all."

* * *

Santana feels human again after a few days. Allergy tests have proven Rachel's own "kind of psychic" powers correct. Her skin's reaction to walnuts had been immediate and severe. Luckily they only tested a small area of skin, well away from her face and neck.

She, Rachel and Kurt sit together, staring uncomfortably at one another.

"I'm sorry…" Kurt apologizes. "I really didn't know…and my mom always put nuts in the chocolate chip cookies I had as a kid. It was just…habit…I guess."

Santana shakes her head. "I know. Don't worry about it. I mean, obviously, steer clear of me with them from now on…but I know you wouldn't do it on purpose."

"How are you feeling?" Rachel asks, and for once, Santana's not irritated by it.

"Better," she allows. Then, a slow smile spreads across her face. It's forced, but she wants to lighten the mood around here. "Hey, so… Do you guys want me to show you how to stab me in the thigh with an EpiPen?"

Shaky smiles spread over Rachel and Kurt's faces.

"Of course," Rachel nods.

"Absolutely," Kurt confirms. "And just so you know? There are no cookies anywhere in the apartment. Rachel and I made sure to eat them all, and wash our hands thoroughly afterward. So, you're safe."

Santana laughs, and it feels good. She looks at each of them in turn. "God, what would I do without roommates like you?"

"Are you gonna show us how to stab you in the thigh or not?" Kurt quips.

And when they all laugh, Santana can't remember ever feeling more grateful.

_The End._


	62. Looking For The Good In People

**Summary: **Kitty's parents are serious about their love for Kitty, even if she doesn't always like it. References to 4x06 "Glease." Requested by: Anonymous.

**Prompt: **Serious

"Katherine, will you come and talk to us, please?" Kitty's mom calls from the kitchen.

Kitty casts a look at her younger sister, Bristol, who is sprawled on Kitty's bed like she owns it, eating leftover popcorn and watching _Grease_, which Brittany forgot to take home with her. Their parents wouldn't be thrilled, but oh well. There are worse things than watching John Travolta when he was actually hot, or Olivia Newton John before she starred in some weird remake of an'80s video with Coach Sylvester.

"What?" she asks, coming to join her parents at the table.

"These girls who were here last night? They're your friends?" her dad asks, making her a little edgy.

"Yeah. So, what?" Kitty asks, a little defensive.

"So…" her mom ventures. "Tell us about them. They seem like nice girls."

"They are," Kitty admits, feeling more than a little guilty. They _are _nice, and here she is, coaching Marley into an eating disorder, and making Unique feel like crap on a regular basis because of something Kitty's pretty sure she can't help.

"How do you know them?" her dad tries again.

"School. Glee club."

"All of them?" her mom sounds impressed.

Kitty nods. She doesn't add that there are boys in glee, too. No need freaking her parents out with co-ed mixing. Even though it's totally lame to be fifteen and still be expected to sit down with your parents and tell them about your friends, Kitty would humor them. She guesses it's better this way than when they didn't care one way or another. Look what happened with Julie and Justin, and she'd known them forever…

"Tina's been in glee the longest. She was one of the original five to sign up when Mr. Schuester took over the club a few years ago. She was a freshman. I guess she used to be really different. Shy and not that confident, but glee helped with that. Now, she's a senior, and she's totally different. The only version of Tina I know is the one who wants to sing solos and always speaks her mind," Kitty shares. It feels weird and kind of wrong, sharing only the good sides of the people she hangs out with. She's gotten really used to trashing them. But, she discovers, this is okay, too.

"Sounds like glee really did her some good," Kitty's mom offered, eying Kitty meaningfully. Kitty tries not to get offended but it's hard with the way her mom's looking at her. Yes, Kitty knows her attitude sucks and she needs some good in her life, but she wishes she weren't so transparent. "So, who else was there? The blonde. What's her name?"

"That's Brittany, Dad, you _know_ her. She's on the Cheerios with me-"

"Ah… The second-year senior…" he says in a way that's not unkind, but not altogether nice either. "Are you sure she's a good influence?"

"She's the best dancer we have, and she works really hard. She always helps out and she's practically in charge of choreographing all the numbers by herself. But, I mean, if you don't want me to surround myself with people who have good work ethics, then…" Kitty drags it out, knowing her dad will cave.

"No, no. It's fine. Now, what about the loud one? What's her name?" Kitty's dad quizzed.

"Sugar?" she guessed.

"Sugar's not a name," her dad scoffed lightly. "A condiment, maybe…"

"It's not a condiment, honey," Kitty's mom corrects her dad gently. "An ingredient, maybe. And the girl can't help what her name is…"

Kitty's dad cleared his throat. "So, what do you know about this…Sugar?"

"She's…motivated…" Kitty attempts. "She's really happy, and she's generous. She joined glee last year, because she wanted to be on a winning team. Mr. Schuester didn't let her join at first, because she doesn't have the best voice, but she tries really hard, and she keeps our spirits up."

"That's good," her mom smiles encouragingly. "Now what about the last two?"

"Unique transferred here this year just like I did…" Kitty hedges, knowing instinctively that she won't tell her parents Unique is a biological male. There are some things they just aren't ready for. And as much as she gives Unique crap, she doesn't want word going around the church or around Lima in any way that might make Unique's life harder. Kitty's seen the way kids go after Unique in the halls. The girls who follow her. The boys who shove her and beat her up when they get her alone in the boys' bathroom, since she isn't allowed to use the girls'. "She's really strong, and she knows who she is. And she has an amazing voice.

"…And Marley…" Kitty sighs, feeling her insides constrict in a way that means she needs to do some serious repenting. "Marley's a total sweetheart. We liked the same boy for a while, but we're getting over that. She's really close to her mother, and doesn't let anyone talk badly about her…"

"Why would people talk badly about her mother?" Kitty's mom asks, sensitive to another mom's pain.

"You know how kids are in high school…" Kitty shrugs.

The truth is, her parents _don't _really know how kids are in high school. Her dad grew up a missionary's kid and mom was a preacher's daughter. They were probably good kids. Kitty's pretty sure they never spread gossip or hurt their friends on purpose.

"Sounds like you have some good friends there…" her dad says gruffly, rising from the table.

"I do," Kitty nods, following suit and getting up.

"Honey?" her mom calls, and Kitty turns.

"What?" she says, trying not to snap.

"They sound like great girls. Don't try so hard, all right? They'll love you all the more when they see the real Katherine."

Kitty swallows, hoping no one ever _does _see the real her. If they do, she's sure, they'll run the other direction, but not before making her life a living hell. Better to get them at arms' length than to risk being the first one to get hurt.

Still Kitty's not naïve. She knows these are the best friends she's going to ever have. So, she's going to have to figure out how to take her mom's advice.

_The End._


	63. Machine

**Summary: **Artie and Blaine practice for a lockdown drill. Set during 4x03, "Makeover." Requested by: Tara621.

**Prompt: **Machine

When the school nurse catches Artie on his way to second hour, he braces himself.

The last time she approached him like this it was to give him the giant brown tarp that was folded into its own bag. This, she told him, he had to carry with him in his backpack in case of a fire. Or a fire drill. If that happened and Artie was on the second floor of McKinley, designated teachers would meet him at a the closest staircase where he would support his weight with his arms, while the tarp was spread beneath him. Then, he would be carried down the flights of stairs. While someone else was in charge of bringing his chair.

What the school nurse didn't say was that the brown tarp, when folded and stored correctly, took up valuable space in Artie's backpack. (He also carried all his textbooks at all times, to minimize locker stops and make the best use of passing time.) What she didn't say is that the strange French teacher, Madame Parrot, who Artie didn't even _have_, would approach him with the express purpose of telling him that she would be one of the people who would help carry him down the stairs. She said it with an honored air and a forced hush, right in the middle of the hall. Kids stared. It was not a promising beginning. What she didn't say was that it was humiliating. It took four staff members to properly carry him - and another to get the chair.

So when the nurse approaches him on his way to lunch, he tries not to sigh. He's just announced his intention to run in the student elections as Brittany's vice presidential running mate. She's promised him full executive power if she wins, and now Artie really needs to prepare her for the debate.

But it looks like that will have to wait.

"Artie?"

"Yes," he says, trying to keep a pleasant tone to his voice, even though he wishes he could just get to lunch and get a jump on writing these questions.

"There's a planned school lockdown drill this afternoon. Now, as you know, you'll need to transfer to the floor for that. I've spoken to Mr. Schuester, as the drill will take place during glee practice. He says he will take care of it, and make sure things move smoothly for you, as best he can. But he also pointed out the many other duties and responsibilities he has in this situation, so he suggested selecting a fellow student to help you. If you'd like, Mr. Schuester can ask for volunteers, or-"

"-That won't be necessary," Artie interjects, feeling embarrassed and hoping it doesn't show.

"I trust you'll take care of it, then?"

"Absolutely," Artie promises, hoping he sounds more confident than he feels.

* * *

"Artie," Mr. Schuester says, the moment Artie comes into the choir room. He has all the subtlety of Madame Parrot. "So, the school nurse spoke to me about procedure for you during the lockdown. I'd help you with the transfer, but I need to lock both doors, pull the blinds and turn off the lights as fast as possible. I think your best bet would be one of the guys. I know Finn helped you out last year, but as he's not around this year…"

"Don't worry about it," Artie dismisses. "I've got it covered." Actually, he doesn't have anything covered. Of the guys in glee club, Joe's attendance is spotty, and Ryder and Jake are first year's who could freeze up under extra responsibility. That leaves Blaine or Sam.

Not great options, either of them, since he and Brittany are running against them, but Artie has to take what he can get.

Blaine seems more reliable, but by chance, Artie sees Sam first.

"Hey… So, there's going to be a lockdown drill today, and I was wondering if you could help me out with something," he asks, and the second the question is out of Artie's mouth, Sam's eyes start darting nervously.

"You've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya, punk?" Sam asks, not looking Artie in the eye. He's nervous at the mere thought of a drill. This won't work.

Artie rolls his eyes. "You know what? Never mind. I'll just ask Blaine."

"Ask me what?" Blaine wonders, a confused smile on his face as he asks Sam, "Was that Clint Eastwood?"

"Listen, before you two have anymore bro-ments together. Blaine, Mr. Schue says there'll be a lockdown drill during class, and I need somebody to help me streamline my chair to floor transfer."

"Done. Absolutely." Blaine says, looking Artie in the eye. Artie finally breathes a sigh of relief.

* * *

When the announcement comes over the PA system, Artie moves as fast as possible to the far wall, while everyone else looks at each other before following suit. Blaine is at his side by the time Artie sets his brakes.

"What's the best way to do this?" he asks softly.

"From behind. Under my arms," Artie offers in a clipped, harsh whisper.

It's awkward, but they manage it, and Artie sits through the endless minutes until Principal Figgins is back, announcing the lockdown is over. There's barely any class time left, and everyone automatically mills around, ignoring their seats, until the bell rings, dismissing them for the day.

"Hey," Blaine asks, walking over and sitting beside Artie. "So…would it be okay if we maybe stayed and practiced this a little more. That took some time, and, God forbid, if anything like that ever happens, we'd need it to be as smooth as possible."

"Yeah, I agree," Artie breathes, grateful that Blaine is as concerned for their safety as Artie is.

"Hey guys. Artie, you need a hand?" Mr. Schuester asks.

"No, thanks. We're going to stay here and run it a few more times," Artie says, like transferring for a lockdown is a football play. He thinks Coach Beiste would be proud.

"Oh. Right. Good idea," Mr. Schue says, before walking out behind the rest of the students.

* * *

Blaine waits until everyone is gone, and then asks if he wants help getting back in the chair. The truth is, Artie _can _get in it, even from the floor. But it takes time, and it's exhausting. "Would you mind?" he asks.

"Not at all," Blaine responds and then proceeds to ask what Artie's most comfortable with in terms of lifts.

Once he's back in the chair, they go across the room and take their seats. At Artie's cue, they start across the room. Artie locks his chair and Blaine grabs him under the arms, easing him to the floor. They do this again and again. Until Artie's comfortable. Until Blaine is comfortable.

Until the whole process runs as smooth as a well-oiled machine.

_The End._


	64. Sunset

**Summary:** Santana finds Puck at an old childhood spot. Characters of Santana and Puck requested by bobina. Allusions to season 5.

**Prompt: **Sunset

Puck is there first. It's like they planned this, but reality is, they didn't. It's an old hangout, from their days in Lima Heights Adjacent. And an unexpected one. Nobody would expect two city kids would want to sit just beyond the Little League fields on top of a picnic table and watch the sun go down. But it had been something they were both drawn to as kids. Santana remembers the first time she found Puck here. They'd been seven, and he threatened to beat her up if she took his spot, and also if she ever told anyone he came here.

She never did.

It was something they never talked about. Something they hadn't done in years. But Santana finds him there, and regrets it. She really wants to be alone right now. They've all come back to Lima. Well, almost all of them.

Finn's not here. That's kind of the point.

The funeral's tomorrow. Santana still can't believe it. And Puck? Puck's kind of destroyed.

She needs to keep this on point. Needs to keep him from self-destructing. So she dives right in, climbing on top of the picnic table in her heels and sitting beside him.

"What?" he snaps, sounding ten again.

"What, yourself…" she returns, and it's easier like this. Easier to be pissed at Puck for no reason than to be pissed at Finn for leaving. For not giving them any warning.

There's silence, as they watch the sun go down. Santana feels hopeless, watching the sky change, going from brilliance to darkness in a matter of minutes. It's like life, she realizes. And it sucks.

"How's Carole?" she asks, gripping the edge of the table.

"How would _you_ be?" Puck growls. Then, "How's_ Brittany_?"

There's a viciousness to his words that Santana normally wouldn't stand for. But today is different. Because today everything is different. So she just sits. Just takes it. Just answers, her own voice hollow.

"She can't get away from MIT."

"Just as well," Puck sighs. His anger faltering for a second. "No one wants to go to a fucking funeral. It's fucking depressing."

"How's Beth?" she asks, trading words like barbs because that's the way it's always been.

"Hell if I know. Now, shut up right quick. I just wanna sit without you running your mouth."

Santana's quiet, but she inches closer to him. Cautiously, she interlaces her fingers with his. He doesn't return the gesture, but he lets her do it, all the same.

They sit like that until all the light fades from the sky. Until the only proof she has that Puck hasn't disappeared, too, is his hand in hers. She ducks her head, and a tear escapes. She's glad he can't see it.

Beside her, though, Puck shudders, and that's how she realizes he's crying.

Santana can't do anything, so she just keeps his hand in her own.

"Sorry," she whispers, not able to imagine what it would feel like if she lost her best friend.

Puck doesn't say anything, but his grip finally tightens around her hand.

_The End._


	65. Arancini

**Summary: **Rachel and Kurt take Santana to their favorite local restaurant after she moves in with them. Post 4x13, "Diva."

**Prompt: **Meat

Santana is walking around Bushwick, bundled in winter gear with Hummel and Berry, when Rachel suddenly stops dead in her tracks. They are giving her a tour, which, Santana is kind of grateful for, and is kind of positive she doesn't need, because she's nothing if not self-reliant.

"Santana," Rachel says, gripping her hands and looking into her eyes with the same kind of crazy look she had for most of junior year. "We _have _to take you to the ball shop."

"Oh my God! Yes! Bushwick has the best fried balls!" Kurt adds.

"Wanky," Santana smirks.

"Mock us now," Kurt warns, "but soon, you'll be eating a piping hot slice of humble pie…"

"They have dessert balls, too," Rachel whispers, still looking crazed. Kurt's grasping one of Rachel's hands while Rachel is still cutting off circulation in one of Santana's. They look like idiots, running down the sidewalk until they're on Flushing. The avenue name totally bites. Not a great start for a place that's guaranteed to disgust her. Anyplace Hummel and Berry like, Santana's bound to despise, just on principle But they pull her inside and it smells nice and kind of homey. Like fried food.

She brings up the rear of the line, with Kurt ahead of her, and Rachel ahead of him. When Rachel gets to the counter, she nearly makes Santana cackle when she says:

"Hello. I would like to order a roasted squash, pine nut and sage vegan _ball_, please."

Kurt's next and when he orders something tasteless with white beans and escarole.

When it's finally Santana's turn, she steps up confidently. If she's going to eat fried balls, she's going to make sure they're damn good and have some heft. "I'll have the buffalo balls," she says succinctly. Feeling sure she can eat a ball if it's filled with spicy chicken and gorgonzola.

They get a table, and Santana half listens to Rachel and Kurt talk a mile a minute about NYADA and classes. She has no idea what she's going to do here, but at least she's here. That's the first step. And it's way more her speed than Lima.

Sooner than expected, Santana's staring at the balls all around the table. She watches Kurt and Rachel break into them, expertly, and eat them like they've been doing it their entire lives, and not just five months. Santana hates feeling like a newbie. So she does what she's always done.

She fakes it. She breaks open her own ball like she's seen her friends do, and takes a bite, moaning. "You guys _have to _try this."

Rachel shakes her head. "I'm perfectly happy with mine. Thank you, though, for offering." She takes a dainty bite of her squash ball.

Kurt says nothing, but makes a come hither motion with his fingers and Santana holds half a buffalo ball out to him, which he samples, and raises his eyebrow in approval.

"That's _good_. Rachel, if you ever decide you can eat a chicken, on good conscience, this would be the ball to try…" he invites.

"Who wants dessert?" Rachel asks, changing the subject. "Kurt and Santana, I'm going to be not-so-subtle in my recommending that the two of you split a dessert ball."

Santana eyes Kurt coolly. This buffalo ball is insane, but she won't forgive herself if she doesn't make the most of it her first time here.

"Strawberry mascarpone?" he asks.

"Strawberry mascarpone," she echoes, smiling. "I've got to say, you guys, I'm definitely down with Bushwick's finest assortment of balls."

"We _told you_!" Rachel and Kurt chorused, and she joined in their laughter.

New York is going to be great.

_The End._


	66. Undo Me

**Summary: **Joe auditions for New Directions, against his parents' advice. Allusions to 3x15 "Big Brother." (Credit for the general idea of this story to whomever brilliantly suggested it on TwoP last year.) Written for Glee Family Fic Week.

**Prompt: **Sex

When Joe brings out his guitar out one night in early April, he's already decided what song he'll use to audition for New Directions. Quinn's said it probably didn't matter, but, to Joe, everything matters. First impressions are important. Respecting the rules is important. People don't just get into New Directions, he found out when he had pressed Quinn. They audition. For Quinn, it had been a '60s song with Santana and Brittany.

Since Joe doesn't really know anyone, he'll have to go solo on this, and with the reassurance that there's no restriction on song selection, Joe goes home and looks through his parents' CD collection. He has a song in mind - one that he remembers jamming out to as a little seven-year-old. It was so good. He wonders now, why it's been years since he's seen the CD…

When he can't find it, he searches the song on YouTube. He finds it there easily enough. The internet can be such an awesome blessing. He's glad his parents have finally decided to get it for their family. Sure, it has a bunch of parental controls set on it, but that's just for his safety. Guard your heart, and all that.

When he starts playing Jennifer Knapp's "Undo Me" he feels it in his body. In his soul. It's such a great song. With a great message. He's halfway through the second chorus when a knock sounds at his bedroom door.

"Yeah?"

His mom and dad are on the other side and they push the door open tentatively. He's in the desk chair so they sit on his bed. "Joe," his dad says his name real seriously so Joe sets the guitar down and gives him his full attention.

"What's up?" he asks quietly. He has no idea what this is about.

"Why are you singing that song?" his mom asks gently.

"Oh. Because I'm gonna audition tomorrow for the McKinley High glee club. I was told I didn't have to audition, but I want to approach this with integrity. I can't just expect to join without going through the process - doing what everyone else did - to get in."

"Let me be more clear. You cannot sing that song," his dad says, his voice flat.

Joe is speechless. His dad normally doesn't put his foot down about this kind of stuff. He wants to show his dad he respects him, but he can't just let this go. "What's wrong with it?" he asks.

"Joe, honey… The artist that sings this song? She's a lesbian," his mom explains, taking his hand, while his dad looks uncomfortable.

"And..." Joe prompts quietly, confused.

"A secular audience would know that, and a secular audience of _teenagers_ would read into lyrics like that. To be frank, they'd make it about sex."

Joe's mouth drops open. "How?"

"Trust me, Joe. I used to _be_ a secular teenager. I know what they're like," his dad maintains.

"I mean, it's a Christian song. And it's about repentance, and getting right with God after we sin," Joe points out, because it is. His dad really can't find fault in that, can he?

"Well, son, you need to consider the source."

Joe narrows his eyes, squinting at his dad. "You mean, because you know the singer's a lesbian, her intent must've been bad." He says it slowly, almost unbelieving.

"I'm sorry, Joe, but I forbid it," his dad says, standing up and walking out.

Usually, Joe's father's word would be the last on the subject, but that was before. Now, Joe's attended public school for two months. Now, thanks to the God Squad, he knew that lots of people were gay, and that it was no big deal. Not that he was gonna tell his dad that.

"You always say God can use anyone to spread His Word. So, why not her?" he asks gesturing vaguely to his bedroom where his computer sat, paused on the video with the lyrics he was reminding himself of.

"Because she's a sinner, Joe. I shouldn't have to tell you this."

"But so am I, Dad. So is Mom. And, to be honest, so are you. Should we not speak to each other about God's love because we're sinners? If so, we'd have no churches 'cause nobody would come. Because they'd know they were unwelcome."

"If they get right with God, they'd be welcomed. With open arms."

"But don't you get it, Dad? There is no _they_. There's just us. 'Cause we're all human beings just trying to make it in a fallen world. And maybe we ought to start redefining what a sin actually is. Last I checked to sin meant to miss the mark. Loving people doesn't equal missing out on anything. And it doesn't hurt anyone. I love you, Dad. And I respect you. But I'm singing the song tomorrow for my audition."

"Then I have to say, I'm very disappointed in you. And I'll pray for you."

"I'll pray for you, too," Joe says, putting his hand on his dad's shoulder.

When his dad continues down the hall, Joe turns back to see his mom still sitting on his bed. She has a little smile on her face.

"Are you gonna pray for me, too?" he asks hesitantly. He doesn't want to face it if his mom's disappointed in him. If she is, who will he talk to?

"I _did _pray for you, honey. You're everything I prayed for. Someone with integrity and a strength of character, who will stand up for what you believe in, no matter the cost. I trust you. And if the Lord is leading you to sing this song to the kids at school, who am I to argue?"

Joe picks up his guitar again and starts to play, sending a smile over his shoulder at his mom.

He's grateful for her. He hopes she knows that.

_The End._


	67. First Call Home

**Summary: **Who does Kitty call after "Shooting Star" and what do they talk about? Requested by: szors. Written for Glee Family Fic Week.

**Prompt: **Phone

Kitty had grown up practicing lockdown drills. They'd become as routine as fire drills or tornado drills.

What she never considered were the sounds. It seemed obvious to her in the aftermath, when she went home with Marley and Mrs. Rose, because she couldn't reach her own parents, to expect it. To expect, in the real thing, to hear gunshots. But Kitty hadn't. And they had terrified her. The sounds of gunshots, panicked voices, high heels clacking down an empty hallway. The jarring of a door handle. Her own phone buzzing in her hands with an incoming text.

She'd texted home. Of course she had. Who _wouldn't _in a situation like that? The problem was, none of Kitty's texts to her parents had been answered. Unlike Marley, Kitty didn't have to worry that her parents were somewhere inside the school, but still. It sucked to have her messages texts to kids she hardly knew answered, while her own parents seemingly ignored her.

She was at the Roses by the time she called her dad. Kitty was an absolute wreck, still clutching Marley's hand, while Mrs. Rose just sat on the sofa and stared. Kitty expected to be grateful. To tell her dad all the things that had gone through her head when they'd been locked in the choir room. To be glad she got one more chance to hear his voice, because it was all she'd prayed for.

She wasn't expecting the anger.

"Katherine? It's after 5:00. Where are you?"

"Where were _you_, Dad?" she snapped.

"At church. It's where I am every day. Now, I don't appreciate the tone you've taken with me, young lady. Whatever's upsetting you, that's no excuse for disrespect."

"How about respecting _me _enough to learn how to text because I couldn't call you without risking my life? Where _were _you, Dad? For real. Where _were you _when Sam was freaking out because Brittany was out there somewhere and he was afraid she was going to be killed? Where were you when _I needed you_?" she sobbed. And the thought was in her head before Kitty even knew she'd summoned it: _They didn't believe you before, what makes you think they'll believe you now?_

"Katherine, what are you talking about, honey?"

"We heard gunshots…" she managed, her voice breaking. "And people running…and trying to get into the choir room…"

"Oh, my God… Are you all right?"

"No…"

"Honey, where are you? I'm getting Mom and Bristol. We're on our way. We'll be there as soon as we can. Just tell me where you are."

"At Marley's…" Kitty managed, squeezing the hand still in hers. She didn't wait for an answer, just hung up the phone and then fell into Marley's bed, exhausted and still crying. Now, her family knew.

Kitty just hoped that when they showed up, she could actually face them. She could actually forgive her dad for praying for other people for hours every day, and not praying for her when she needed it the most. Or her mom for whatever fluke made her not say anything back for the whole two hours Kitty waited for an answer.

She didn't blame Bristol, though. Just ten years old, Bristol didn't have a cell phone.

_The End._


	68. Vocabulary Lesson

**Summary: **Santana gets a vocabulary lesson from her mom, after watching _Lady & the Tramp _with Brittany. Written for Glee Family Fic Week.

**Prompt: **Tramp

If there was one thing Maribel and Julio Lopez did not expect it was seeing their eight-year-old, Santana arrive home from her friend, Brittany's, singing a questionable song. Maribel braced herself, hearing the words that effortlessly came from her daughter's mouth, and winced at the rather suggestive dance.

Julio eyed Maribel, and said under his breath, "You're talking to her, right? Because if that Pierce girl is teaching her things like that, I don't want them playing together."

"Relax, honey. It'll be fine," Maribel reassured, as she went to the kitchen, leaving her husband in the living room, reading the paper.

"Santana, come here."

"What?" she called from down the hall.

"Now, please."

Maribel heard a heavy sigh and then sneakered footsteps out to the kitchen. Santana waited expectantly, soccer ball in hand.

"Where did you learn that song you were singing?" Maribel asked calmly, though it seemed obvious enough.

"Brittany's. Can I go now? I wanna play outside," Santana said impatiently.

"In a minute. First, tell me what the song's about."

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I mean, except obviously about the tramp in _Lady & the Tramp_."

"What does tramp mean?" Maribel asked, genuinely interested.

Another shrug. "It's just the name of the character.'

"Right but names have meaning-"

"-and Santana means _favor _or _grace_, I know…"

"And _tramp_ means somebody with a bad reputation. And those other words you said? Scoundrel?"

"That's just means somebody that makes you scowl. That's what Brittany said, and that's not bad," Santana defended. "And "around her" means he just wants to be_ around _Lady, which, he should if they're boyfriend-girlfriend. And we already asked Brittany's dad what a cad is, and he says it's just a type of car." Santana crossed her arms over the soccer ball, looking upset.

"Come here," Maribel encouraged, pulling Santana onto her lap. "I'm not upset with you. I want you to sing and be happy, all right? But I want you to be informed, too. I want you to know what you're singing about. And that song? It's about a girl dog who wants a boy dog, even though he treats her badly."

Santana's mouth dropped open. "But Tramp's not like that. He killed the rat and saved the baby's life. So that song doesn't really count."

"What I'm trying to say is…words have power. And there are men out there who don't respect women and girls. I wish I could say, 'Sing whatever song makes you happy,' but I can't, because it isn't safe."

"Do you want me to say I won't sing it anymore?" Santana asked, turning to look Maribel in the eye.

"Only if you mean it."

Santana sighed. "I still don't get what the big deal is, but okay, I won't sing it. Even though it _is _from a Disney movie, and Disney movies are supposed to be for kids, even the old ones."

Maribel laughed and Santana slid off her lap. She was halfway out of the kitchen, when she turned, a bargain shining in her eyes. "I'm just gonna _hum _it, okay? Until something else gets stuck in my head."

Sighing, Maribel nodded. They would get there. Still, she wished there were some lessons she never had to teach.

_The End._


End file.
